Weasley's Witch Wooing
by EuphoniumGurl0
Summary: It's Christmas time, and Hermione's coping with a painful break-up. Fred's had his eyes on Hermione for quite some time, and now that she's single, he uses his Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes to Weasley Witch Woo her. Will he be successful in his endeavors?
1. Weasleys' Wizard Wardrobe

**Title**: Weasley's Witch Wooing

**Pairing**: Hermione Granger/Fred Weasley (with Hermione/Oliver being prominent as well and many other canon pairings featured)

**Warnings**: A/U (Fred being alive being the main difference), fluff, melodrama, lemons, quite a few WWW products, and a whole lot of Neville being awesome

**Summary**: It's Christmas time, and Hermione's coping with a painful break-up. Fred's had his eyes on Hermione for quite some time, and now that she's single, he uses his Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes to Weasley Witch Woo her. Will he be successful in his endeavors?

**Author's Note**: If you're coming here after reading _Overclocking_, know that this is a completely different type of story. Overclocking was very methodical, very action/plot driven. This is more Gossip Girl/Grey's Anatomy-esque. As I'm rereading this, I'm going to try my best to alter it a bit and lighten it up even more. Hope you enjoy!

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**Chapter 1: Weasleys' Wizard Wardrobe**

"Hermione, dear, would you mind running out for a bit of milk?" asked the warm, gentle voice of Mrs. Weasley. "I'd ask one of the others, but..."

"Ron, Harry, and Ginny aren't here yet. Bill's busy with the kids. Charlie and Arthur are tinkering with something in the back shed and wouldn't listen even if you asked. Percy would probably get you a healthier alternative to milk, like Abyssian Shrivelfig milk, which has all sorts of health benefits but can't really be used in most baking. And Fred and George wouldn't come back for four hours, and when they finally would, it'd with three bags of sweets and brooms for Victoire and Teddy, even though they can't even do basic maths yet. Something like that?" Hermione asked, flicking her wand to summon her cloak.

"Well, you said it dear, not me," Mrs. Weasley replied, a smile on her face.

Hermione grinned at the woman she regarded like a second mother and nodded. "Of course, Molly," Hermione said warmly. "I'll be back in a flash. Do you need me to get you anything else?"

"Three bags of sweets," said a voice from the entranceway to the kitchen.

"And new brooms," said an almost identical but slightly deeper voice from the same direction.

Hermione tried to conceal a smile as she wrapped a scarf around her neck and turned to the direction of the voices.

"Kids need brooms, you know?" George asked.

"_We _could use new brooms, too," Fred remarked.

"That's true. Make it four brooms, Hermione," George requested.

"But not those garbage ones for kids that only levitate three feet off the ground," Fred amended, scrunching his nose up.

"No, definitely not one of those," George agreed. "We need big boy brooms."

"Are you two quite finished?" Hermione asked, putting her hands on her hips, tapping her finger against her wand. Mrs. Weasley had returned to her baking, humming along with the radio.

"Almost," Fred said, rubbing his long, slender finger against his chin, as if he was thinking about what else he could add. "Oh yeah. Just so you know, Teddy _can_ do basic maths."

"Victoire can't yet, so she's got us there, Freddy," George reminded his twin.

"Yeah, but she's only four," Fred countered. "She's the daughter of a Triwizard champion and former Head Boy of Hogwarts. We should be counting our blessings she's not yet been corrupted."

"Alright," Hermione interrupted them, shaking her head. "As fun as this is, I'm going to run to the local Muggle market to buy your mum some milk, as she's busy baking all of _us _Christmas desserts."

She should have known better than to ask the twins if they were finished talking. For as long as she'd known them, she'd rarely ever known them to shut up. It wasn't that they were annoying, like she had been when she was younger; it was just that they _did _have a knack for speaking endlessly.

Hermione pushed past them and walked to the front door, slightly relieved that Mrs. Weasley only needed milk. If she'd needed more complex ingredients, she'd have to make a floo run to Diagon Alley, where she would inevitably be recognized by a holiday shopper. She was too familiar with the experience, one which wasn't letting up, even six years after the war was won.

Someone would recognize her, even bundled up, probably because of her trademark bushy brown hair, which she tried to chop off after the war but couldn't bear to part with, even after all these years. Then, the woman (or man) would shrilly exclaim that they were in the presence of Hermione Grange, decorated war heroine, recipient of the Order of Merlin, First Class, and high-ranking Ministry of Magic official. _And then_, the real funwould begin, as a crowd flocked to her, wanting to take a picture, get her autograph, or merely shake her hand or _touch _her. She shuddered at the very thought of grabbing hands.

Really, she understood their appreciation, even if she'd only done what was right, in her mind, but it was getting a bit out of hand. In her opinion, the greatest appreciation they could show her would be to simply _'bugger off,' _as Ron had put it, and leave her to her own life. Every day tasks in public were made more difficult merely because of who she was.

On Christmas Eve, she just wanted to relax and enjoy the hols with her friends and adoptive family, not a gaggle of fans and a prophet reporter or two.

And she didn't even know which ones she hated more - the people who followed gossip columns and news about her religiously or the ones who asked but had no idea. She remembered the last time she was in Diagon Alley, on official Ministry business, mind you, and she'd met two old women who'd had no qualms about asking her about her personal life.

_'Have you and Ron Weasley gotten married yet? Always were such a _lovely _young couple.' 'Oh no, haven't you heard? They've broken up _ages _ago, they have. She's dating Neville Longbottom now. Saw it in the Prophet, I did.'_

She _never _dated Neville Longbottom, for Merlin's sake. The person who'd reported on that for the Prophet had to have been mad. Hermione kept in touch with _all _of her close friends from Hogwarts, as they were _still _her close friends. Hermione, Ron, Harry, Neville, Luna, and Ginny got together weekly for a board game night. But she would never date any of them. There was nothing interesting there to be told.

Oh, but when there _was _something interesting to be told, the Prophet was on it ten times worse than with non-story stories. About six months after she'd split up with Ron, she'd accepted a dinner invitation from Oliver Wood, who she'd had a few meetings with in attempts to persuade him to champion her cause for equality of all creatures in the Quidditch universe. Quidditch teams were notorious for mistreating house/stadium elves, and Quidditch players just _didn't _care.

Ginny had tried, but she'd only been successful in persuading the few female players in professional Quidditch. She needed someone well-liked, a man's man, as much as the thought made her blood boil, and Wood had been amicable.

And to her surprise, he knew how to talk about things besides Quidditch. He was rather clever, sharp, and the Prophet latched onto the story. She supposed that she should have been grateful that she hadn't been turned into a villain who was breaking Ron's or Harry's hearts.

Two months ago, Wood had ended things. She wasn't sure why, and if she was being honest, she was still upset about it. She thought their relationship had been going swimmingly, but apparently she was wrong. And Wood looked so uncomfortable ending things that she didn't have the galls to ask him for an explanation. She'd just apparated away in tears.

And now she felt pathetic thinking about it, so she wrapped her cloak tighter around herself and set off onto the footpath in front of the Burrow, heading to the local village, glad she carried Muggle money on her out of habit.

"They're used to _us _dressing strangely, but how do you reckon the Muggles would feel about someone else wearing the funny cloaks?" Fred asked, popping up beside Hermione.

"Probably would think the neighborhood's gone loony and start moving," George replied.

"Oh. Right," Hermione said, glancing down at herself and realizing her maroon cloak might earn her a few strange glances. "What was I thinking?"

"That you might want to give us an opportunity to try out our newest product, I bet," Fred replied cheekily, sticking out his hand.

"Don't think I was thinking anything along those lines, actually," Hermione answered, continuing her stroll without even glancing at Fred's outstretched hand.

"Oh, come on. I think you'll like this one, Hermione," George pleaded.

Hermione stopped in her tracks, too curious to withstand. Plus, if it was Georgewho was offering to her, it was _probably _alright. She turned to examine what Fred had stuck out. It looked like a tiny wardrobe. She took it hesitantly, and prodded it with her finger. When it didn't explode or do anything funny, she took her thumb and forefinger and grasped the tiny knob on it, opening it up. Inside, she saw her azure peacoat, the one her mum had given her for graduation, the one that'd cost them a fortune because it was by some famous Muggle designer and had an asymmetrical buttoning line.

When she reached in hesitantly to grab it, there was a small, pink puff of smoke, and she jumped, startled. When the smoke cleared, she looked back into the wardrobe to see her cloak there. Hermione blinked in confusion, then looked down at herself and realized she was now wearing the coat.

"Bloody incredible," she gasped, pocketing the wardrobe and touching her coat, trying to figure out if it was actually hers.

She looked at her back, and sure enough, the coat was covering her completely. She was in shock. How had they done it? Was that actually her coat? Was it an illusion? Was it transfiguration? Was it a charm? What _was _it?

"We were inspired by the DA," Fred said proudly.

"The DA?" she asked, still examining herself. "Does it have a protective charm on it as well?"

"The DA met at the Room of Requirement, because we _needed _it," George replied.

"This," Fred continued, sticking his hand into Hermione's pocket and pulling out the dresser, "functions in the same way. You think of what you really want to be wearing, open the dresser, and voila!"

"There it is," George finished. "And when you no longer need it, you put on what you were wearing before, and what you wanted before is back in your closet."

"And it's not tied to one specific closet, but to the person holding it," Fred said.

"Although we might change that," George said sheepishly.

"Well, of course," Hermione said, still examining her peacoat in disbelief. "Like this, a group of girls can share it, but if it's tied to one closet, then you'll sell more."

"What we were thinking, too," George agreed. "Still have to make a profit."

"You look smashing in that coat, by the way," Fred said, handing her back the tiny wardrobe.

Hermione stopped touching herself and looked at Fred's face, and saw that he wasn't smiling as widely as his brother was. He just had a hint of a smile on his face, admiration in his brown eyes as they bore into Hermione's. She blushed slightly, hoping that her cheeks were flushed enough from the cold so that he wouldn't notice her embarrassment.

"Thanks," she murmured, before she forced herself to continue walking "So what are you two doing here, anyway?"

"Boring in the house. Thought playing with Muggles might be more fun," Fred answered, the goofy smile she was familiar with appearing on his face once more.

"You're really going to say that in front of an employee of the Ministry of Magic?" she questioned, quirking her eyebrow at him.

"Dad's a Ministry employee, and he plays with Muggles for a living," George replied, and both he and Fred snickered.

"You're impossible," she huffed, shaking her head in disapproval while trying to conceal her smile as they arrived into the local town.

"Which one of us?" Fred challenged.

"You," she said, pointing at Fred. "Fred Weasley, I firmly believe that if it weren't for you, George would be a half-decent person."

"I'm a half-decent person," George whined.

"No, Gred," Fred said. "You're two-fifths decent at best. I'm more like three-eighths. Right, Hermione?"

"Right," she replied, rolling her eyes, and looking around for any signs of life.

She saw two teenage boys sitting on the concrete base of a fountain near the center of town, their eyes glued to a phone. She walked toward them confidently. As she approached, they looked up at her.

"Pardon, but could you tell me if there's a shop near here?" she asked.

"Sure," said the blond boy, smiling up at her, and reaching out his hand to point behind him. "Round the corner, past the tailor. Mrs. McLuffy may have closed up by now, since it's Christmas Eve Day and all, but she lives behind the shop, so if you knock, she'll open up to give you what you need."

"Thank you," she said, bowing her head gratefully.

"You're welcome, miss," said the blond boy.

"Anything to keep _them _happy," muttered the brown-haired boy.

The blond boy elbowed him hard and tried to laugh off what his friend had said.

Hermione furrowed her brows, then looked behind her, to see the twins smiling innocently, _too _innocently at them. She turned back toward the boys.

"Have they done something to frighten you?" she asked.

"No, nothing," the blond boy quickly said.

"You can tell me," Hermione urged.

The blond boy fervently shook his head, and the brown-haired boy's eyes were glued to the ground.

Hermione turned around to the twins and narrowed her eyes at them. "Get over here, you two. _Now_."

The twins obliged, not arguing with her tone, and Hermione could see that the boys at the fountain seemed to shrink in size.

"These two boys are frightened for their lives. What in Dumbledore's name have you done to them?" she demanded.

"What did they _say_ we did to them?" George asked carefully.

"_Yes_," Fred added on, regarding the boys with a sinister smile. "What _did _you say?"

"Nothing," the blond boy said immediately. "They did nothing, miss. I swear it. Could we go, please? _Please?_"

"You may leave," she dismissed with a sigh, glaring at the mirthful expressions on the Weasley twin's faces.

"See you soon, Collin, Michael," George waved, as the boys scampered off.

"Tell your mums hello for us," Fred called genially.

Hermione continued to glare, then shook her head. She didn't have time for this right now, and she doubted that any line of questioning would lead the twins to fessing up to whatever they were hiding.

"_Seriously _impossible," Hermione huffed, and started to walk to where the boys had pointed her in the direction of the shop.

"But you _like _the Weasleys' Wizard Wardrobe, right?" Fred asked, cheekily.

She pursed her lips, shook her head, and opened the door to the small shop which had the 'open' sign hanging on the door.


	2. Weasley's Well-timed Wandering

**Chapter 2: Weasley's Well-timed Wandering**

"Noisy, isn't it?" Hermione whispered to Ron, as they sat in the enlarged living room of the Burrow, children everywhere.

"Hate to say it, but it makes me glad I haven't any of my own yet," he replied, his arm draped over Hermione's shoulder comfortably.

Hermione turned to look at him and nodded in agreement. No one else was really paying attention to their conversation anyway. The only attention she was being paid was through little Teddy Lupin in her lap, attempting to get up and walk incognito to the Christmas tree whenever he thought Hermione wasn't paying him any mind.

She caught him by the back of the shirt and tugged him so that his bum fell into her lap again. He crossed his arms and pouted, his normally sandy hair turning a melancholy grey, which looked highly strange considering the fact that he was only five.

"To think, if we'd have stayed together, you might be preggo right alongside Gin," Ron said, pointing at his sister.

The normally petite redhead looked just as tiny as she always had, giving no evidence to the fact that she was once again pregnant, except that the little wizard inside was already doing magic, causing her belly to light up different shades every few minutes. James Sirius, who wasn't good with his words yet, was pushing at his mum's stomach every time it lit up a different color.

Ginny, instead of looking annoyed, appeared to be quite content with the situation, mussing up her son's unruly black hair. Harry was egging James on, pointing at all the different colors his brother was emitting, telling him what spells would emit that color. James was fascinated.

Hermione was caught between commenting on how cute the Potter family was together and mentioning something about her and Ron's failed relationship and the amicable split that followed, but there simply was no need. She and Ron had always been better off as friends, and they'd gotten over the short bout of awkwardness that followed their break-up. They were back to where they were before, without the snogging and the shagging, although Mrs. Weasley was happy to point out the fact that they still spent a large chunk of their free time together, that they still hugged and touched each other like before, and that Ron even opened doors for her.

Instead, she picked a more light-hearted remark.

"You reckon their next one will be born before September 1st?" Hermione asked.

"I think he's due well before then, isn't he?" Ron asked, scratching his head.

"He is, but James was almost a month late," Hermione reminded. "If their next one is that late, he's not going to be attending Hogwarts until September 2017 instead of 2016."

"In your mind, is it all just numbers scrolling down, like in the _Matrix_?" he teased, motioning with one hand the numbers coming down.

Hermione laughed and poked him in the side. "You remembered that!"

"You made me watch enough Muggle movies that were bad. How could I forget the ones that were actually good?" Ron asked, grinning from ear-to-ear.

She giggled, and stuck her hand out to grab the back loop of Teddy's pants again. His hair turned bright pink, and he stopped in his tracks.

"Where do you think you're going?" she asked suspiciously, as Teddy was heading off in a direction not toward the Christmas tree for once.

"Uncle Harry always tells me something about my mum and dad for Christmas, and I just remembered that he hasn't told me anything this year yet, so I was going to see if he would," Teddy said quietly. "I don't know if he's forgotten."

Hermione looked at the somber face of little Teddy Lupin, who had grown up with parental circumstances similar to Harry's, although his upbringing was thankfully completely different, as he'd been left with _some _blood relatives who loved and cared for him, and an adoptive family that spanned numerous generations and well-known families including the Weasleys, the Potters, the Delacours, etc. But despite his relatively blessed life considering the circumstances, there was no denying that he had lost something irreplaceable.

And when Hermione looked at him right now, his quiet, sad demeanor and gentle voice, even at such a young age, reminded her of his father, even though the spitfire attitude he normally had reminded her mostly of his mother.

"Go on then, and remind him," Hermione gently urged, lightly nudging him in the direction of Harry, who smiled brightly at the approaching Lupin.

"Poor kid," Ron said quietly. "But with parents like Lupin and Tonks, there's no way he won't be alright."

"And with a godfather like Harry," Hermione added with a smile. "Treats him like his own."

"Would take him in if it wouldn't break his gran's heart, I reckon," added in a voice from the sofa behind her.

Hermione looked back to see Fred Weasley settle in behind them. She smiled at him warmly. Angelina and George were cuddling up by the fireplace, in deep conversation, which more-or-less explained why he'd left them alone.

"Come to join the only singles in the room?" Ron asked with a laugh.

"You two aren't married?" Fred asked, a smirk plastered on his face.

"Why don't you just... shut up?" Hermione asked, although she supposed Ron's arm around her wasn't helping the situation.

"Good one, Hermione," Ron laughed, retracting his arm from around her and standing up, patting himself off. "I'm going to make myself something to eat. Do you want something?"

"I'd like - " Fred started, but Ron cut him off.

"I wasn't asking you. Hermione?" Ron asked, a grin plastered on his face.

Hermione giggled again but shook her head.

When Ron walked toward the kitchen, she propped herself up on her hands and slid onto the couch behind her, next to Fred. The floor was killing her back anyway.

"So much for blood, eh?" Fred asked in mock indignation.

"I think he's nicer to me to compensate. I'm the only one in the room with no blood relation to anyone else here," Hermione answered with a smile.

"Or you're the only one worth being nice to," Fred proposed alternatively.

Hermione flushed and smiled at the uncharacteristically sweet comment that had just come out of Fred Weasley's mouth. "_Awww_. Thanks."

"You know, because your tits haven't been used as milk jugs yet," Fred clarified.

Hermione wanted to roll her eyes at him, but she couldn't help the sudden exhalation of air that accompanied the laughter that'd beat her to the punch. And there it was; the Fred Weasley she knew was back in charge.

"You laughed," he commented, a bit of pride and admiration in his voice. "Hermione Granger laughed at that."

"Hush, you," she commanded, poking him in the side.

They both laughed, and turned back toward the room, where people were standing up, as it was decidedly bed time for the kids, and some of the more exhausted-looking adults as well.

"Where's Ron?" Harry asked when he walked over to Hermione and Fred on the couch, tiny hands clasped in his untidy hair, tiny feet dangling around his neck.

"In the kitchen eating, as always," Hermione replied with a wry smile.

"And have you seen Teddy?" Harry asked, whirling around, causing the small boy on his shoulders to giggle gleefully. "I was just talking to him a second ago. Teddy? Teeeeddy?"

"I think I saw Teddy heading upstairs," Fred replied smartly, giving an exaggerated wink to the boy who suddenly had black hair to match Harry's. Camouflage?

"Ahh. Thanks," Harry said with a smile. "I'll go find him. When you see Ron, tell him that Gin and I are heading to bed?"

"I will," Hermione promised. "Good night."

"Good night, Hermione, Fred," Harry replied.

She giggled as she watched Harry stomp upstairs after his wife, bending his knees purposely to stop Teddy from hitting the ceiling, even though he was still calling out for him jokingly.

As the room cleared out, and everyone bid them good night, Hermione sighed. It was nine-thirty, and all of her friends were going to bed. She could still remember sneaking around Hogwarts in the middle of the night, and now everyone was in bed. She was twenty-four years old. Shouldn't she still be skulking around in the middle of the night?

"You fancy a walk?" Fred asked her after a few minutes of silence and no sign of Ron.

"Sure," she replied slowly, wondering if Fred had somehow managed to find a way to read her mind with one of his products. "We should let Ron know."

"He'll figure it out," Fred replied, waving her off. "He may not be as smart as I am, but he's still a Weasley, and there isn't a Weasley alive who's outright stupid."

Hermione opened her mouth to argue, because she felt like Fred had still somehow insulted Ron, and she wanted to defend him, but she wasn't sure how. She felt like any argument she could make would make it sound like she was arguing _against _Ron not being stupid. So she opened and closed her mouth a few more times, before she clapped her jaw shut.

"Niffler got your tongue, Granger?" Fred asked with a smirk.

_Damn him_. He'd purposely worded that so that she _couldn't _argue against it. She glared at him but headed toward the door anyway.

"It's cold out," Fred called.

Hermione took her wand out of the waistband of her snowflake pajama pants and was about to summon a coat, when Fred handed her the Weasleys' Wizard Wardrobe again. She took it and saw that it was already open, the coat she'd worn earlier in the day in it again.

She looked up at him curiously. This wasn't what she'd wanted at the moment. She wanted her puffy white jacket, the one that kept the wind out. She was about to close the wardrobe again, thinking it must have still remembered her wish from earlier, but Fred caught her hand, a small smile on his pink lips.

"I want to see you wear the coat again," he said smugly.

"Why?" Hermione asked, furrowing her brows but complying nonetheless.

"Because it actually fits you properly," he replied smoothly. "Alright, enough chattering. Out you go."

She opened her mouth, but her voice wouldn't come out. She felt warmth radiate from her belly outward, a stupid grin on her lips as he opened the door and shoved her out it.

"D'you have anywhere in mind?" she asked, once she regained her ability to think. "Because if you're off to terrorize those poor Muggle boys again, I'll have no part of it."

"Hermione, Hermione, Hermione," he said, shaking his head. "I'm twenty-six years old. Don't you think I've outgrown terrorizing Muggle boys by now?"

She narrowed her eyes at him. "You'd think that, yes, and under normal circumstances, I'd answer 'yes,' but with you, I'm not so sure."

"Knife in the heart," he said, trying his best to sound wounded but failing miserably. "You think so little of me, do you?"

She snorted in a most unladylike fashion, standing in front of him without make-up, wearing her fancy blue coat, her snowflake pajama pants, and a pair of brown suede loafers, her arms crossed. She couldn't be bothered to answer the question.

Fred's eyes twinkled mirthfully, and he grabbed her hand.

She looked up at him, a bit flustered but unyielding, wondering why he was showing the sudden affection, but his face gave nothing away.

"And we're off."

"Wha-?" _POOF._


	3. Weasley's Wish Wielding

**Chapter 3: Weasley's Wish Wielding**

When the horrible spinning feeling associated with side-along apparition ended, she opened her eyes and saw that they were inside Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, although she wasn't sure in which one.

"You!" she exclaimed, smacking his arm in indignation. "Don't just apparate me off somewhere when I'm not even decent."

"Believe me, if you weren't decent, I wouldn't be taking you _anywhere_," he said, a cocky grin returning to his face, as he started walking through aisles.

"That's not what I meant, you pillock," she shot back, flailing slightly.

She couldn't apparate out of the store. She knew that. They'd set up wards on all their stores so that no one could apparate in and out besides them. It was a reasonable way to prevent shoplifting. When she glanced around one of the shelves, she spotted the storefront and saw large bay windows which showcased their new products and looked out onto a crowded street.

_Crap_. They were in Diagon Alley, and the streets were still packed with last-minute shoppers, trying to buy presents in the few stores that were suffering through staying open late on Christmas Eve in order to hike up their prices. She knew immediately that there was _no _way she was going out _there _to be seen like _this_.

She had no choice but to follow him behind the counter and up the stairs.

She'd never been upstairs at this particular shop before, not since they'd expanded into a bigger location anyway. She knew in the back they had a stock room, but she had no idea what was upstairs.

She padded up the stairs and was surprised at what awaited her there. It was a laboratory of sorts, filled with bubbling and simmering and glowing potions in cauldrons made of pewter and silver and iron and gold, some of which were magically being stirred by oversized spoons and some of which had a strong presence of magic surrounding them. In the middle of the room was a large metal work table with various objects laying on it. In the corner of the room, there was a cage with floating feathers in it. Above that cage was another, but this one was filled with what looked like marbles. But these marbles were emitting tiny howls, as they clinked against each other in what looked like war. Were they _battling_?

She stepped closer and watched in fascination as one of the marbles produced a sword with a small puff of magic.

"The future of Gobstones," Fred whispered in her ear.

She jumped with a squeak, and stood up straight. "Brutal little things, aren't they?"

"Yeah," Fred agreed, peering at the cage which held the warrior marbles. "But kids will eat them up."

"Why aren't you selling them yet?" Hermione questioned, bringing her hand toward the cage and sticking in a finger.

Two of the marbles immediately turned toward her and came at her finger, the one with the sword slashing at her, and the other one producing a bow and shooting a tiny red arrow. She pulled her finger out immediately. She put her finger in her mouth, where the tiny sword had struck her and left a small cut.

"Ah," she answered, sucking on her finger.

"Sorry about that," he answered sheepishly. "That's why they're caged. We're trying to develop a special chalk that'll keep their powers confined to within a defined battle space, but we're not having much luck at the moment."

She cocked her head to the side and thought for a moment.

"Have you tried inverting a simple Protego?" she asked.

"Sorry?" he questioned, looking at her with interest.

"You did all of those shielding cloaks for Ministry members, right? So why not apply the same concept? Instead of trying to trap the Gobstones in a confined area, why not protect the actual chalk-line itself, so that they can't cross it. It'll be like a donut effect, with the game area in the center," she said, taking her wand out of her coat pocket. "Have you got a piece of chalk near here?"

"Here," he said, walking over to the work table, opening one of the drawers on the side, and pulling out a basket of chalk. He threw her a piece.

"Just like this," she said, waving her wand. "Instead of doing the circular flick and aiming where you want the shield to go, bisect it through the middle, flick one to one side of the chalk, one to the other, and _Contego_."

A light blue and a dark blue light both shot out of her wand at the same time, side-by-side and shot into the piece of chalk, turning it blue for a moment before it turned white again.

"That way, the players can still access the center from above, but the Gobstones can't, since they can't actually fly - they can't _fly_, can they?" she questioned, and Fred shook his head. "Right, so since they can't fly, they can't get over the barrier, which is ten centimeters high. Let's test it."

Hermione took the chalk and drew a circle on the metal workbench, while Fred took the cage filled with the fighting marbles. He opened the cage and scooped out one red one and one blue one, since they were on opposing teams, and he tossed them into the circle.

The marbles rolled angrily toward Fred and Hermione, but when they realized they couldn't get through the light blue light, they started fighting each other instead.

Fred got out a few more, and Hermione and Fred played a game of Gobstones that ended with Fred's troops wiping out Hermione's.

"Blimey, Hermione, that's brilliant," Fred said, grinning with kiddish delight. "I can't believe we hadn't thought of that."

He rounded on her and threw his arms around her, squeezing tightly. She returned his vigorous embrace abashedly, unsure of why she was suddenly feeling her previously cold body heat up when in contact with his long, lean, warm one. She blamed his comment earlier that day, when he told her she looked good in her coat. Ever since then, she'd hardly been able to stop thinking about it, and the way he'd looked so serious when he'd said it.

He wasn't just saying it to be nice. He _meant _it. And it made her feel happier than it probably should have, considering he was Ron's brother.

"Thank you," he said with a broad grin, as he let her go. "George will be pleased that we can finally start marketing these."

"Oh, you're welcome," she replied shyly. "You'd have figured it out eventually, I'm sure. You're much better at charms than I ever was."

"We just have more experience using them creatively," Fred said, shrugging off the compliment, which surprised her.

"No, _really_," Hermione argued. "I've never been able to invent new charms and break them apart, and pile them on top of one another like you and George do. You could write textbooks on the subject."

"Rubbish," Fred said, again waving her off. "We're only good at this. Our skills were never suited for academia, and they don't extend far outside of some charms and basic potions."

"What about transfiguration?" she asked, deciding to momentarily drop the subject, since it was a rare opportunity for Fred not to be the cockiest man in the world. "I can't imagine you're bad at that either."

Fred shook his head. "Rubbish at transfiguration, the both of us. If we were a bit better, we'd be able to do all sorts of things we've been trying to do for ages now."

"Like what?" she asked, curiously.

"I'll tell you later," he said, when the crowd outside grew louder. "I didn't bring you here to help me work. Come on."

She followed him up another set of stairs, trying to remind herself to ask him about the previous subject more at another time. "What did you bring me here for?"

He didn't say anything, and on the third floor, where there was another work area, he lowered a ladder from the ceiling and opened the hatch to the roof.

"I'd offer for you to go first, but you'd just complain that I was trying to get a look at your bum or something," he said, putting his hand on the first rung and climbing up.

"Would you be?" she called up, once he'd done the climb, and she started it.

When she was at the top, he paused as if in thought before giving her a hand up and admitting, "probably."

She shook her head, a faint smile on her face. She looked around the rooftop and saw two lawn chairs in the center and a wooden bench closer to the edge, alongside a small wooden table.

"Come up here often?" she asked, pointing at the sitting area.

"Not as often as I'd like. It's a nice view, but we're usually too busy to relax," he answered, flicking snow off the bench and offering her a seat.

She took it, and he sat down next to her, looking out at Diagon Alley. She didn't think they could be seen up here, even at the edge, but they could see the busy street bustle with life down below. It was lightly snowing and cold, but George fixed the latter problem by summoning bluebell flames, giving her a nostalgic sort of feel from her first year at Hogwarts.

"Knut for your thoughts?" he asked.

He must have seen her drift into her own reminiscing.

"Just thinking about my first year at Hogwarts. I think the handiest things you learn are in your first few years. After that, everything else that piles on top just sort of becomes extraneous," she admitted.

She expected Fred to tease her about it, to express shock that Hermione Granger would call any lessons unnecessary, but he didn't. He instead nodded his head in agreement.

"I suppose that's why they let you decide what you want to keep taking at some point," Fred added. "Although I may not be the best person to be talking about the merits of traditional education."

"There's something that can be said about more practical, private study, too," Hermione said, turning her head to look at him.

He was smiling brightly, as if she'd just given him a cookie, and it was infectious, causing her to smile, too.

"So why are we here, Fred?" she asked, a ghost of a smile still lurking on her lips.

He smiled wickedly, a glint in his eye. "Something you said to me last Christmas."

"Something I said?" she echoed, rifling through her memories trying to figure out what she'd said to him last Christmas that would imply that she'd like to be on the roof of his shop at now nearly midnight on Christmas Eve.

Fred's grin didn't falter, as he opened his mouth to explain. "You popped 'round a few days after Christmas last year, when we were just getting ready to open the shop here, to give us our presents, since you'd spent Christmas with your Mum and Dad in Australia, and you saw an old poster for the Diagon Alley Christmas tree lighting ceremony. D'you remember what you said?"

She thought about it for a moment. "I complained that I'd never get to see it, since attention always gets drawn to me, and even if I did go, I wouldn't get to enjoy it in peace."

"Right," he said. "Well, look."

He pointed outward, and she followed his finger to the giant Christmas tree in the center of Diagon Alley, which had spectators gathered around it. And then, it lit up, and the patrons of Diagon Alley cheered, as a firework exploded, and glowing magical creatures flittered about it, fairies releasing their dust onto the crowd. There were ornaments of all sorts on the tree, some magical, some non-magical, some by sponsors of the lighting ceremony, and some with figures that re-enacted significant historical events.

The star at the top wasn't in the traditional star shape. Rather, it was a bright, white ball, which incinerated any snowflakes that happened upon it, and Hermione wondered if it was some sort of miniature version of a _real _star. She'd have to ask Firenze if such a thing was possible. If anyone would know, it'd be him, and if any of the other centaurs were about, she'd get an earful about people corrupting nature.

"Happy Christmas, Hermione," Fred said, putting his arm around her.

She was grinning like mad, and she turned to hug him, unable to believe that he'd remembered her wish, and that he'd made it come true.

"Happy Christmas, Fred," she replied. "Probably my favorite gift of the year, so far."

"This isn't a gift," he said, laughing. "Although even if it was, your compliment is empty, Granger. Christmas has just begun."

"You got me there, Weasley," she laughed and shook her head, gazing outward and snuggling into him. "Thanks, anyway."

"You're welcome," he replied, pointing outward again, as the fireworks concluded, the final one being a giant logo for Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes.

"Bloody corporations always messing up my entertainment with their adverts," she teased.

He merely laughed heartily, keeping his arm wrapped tightly around her, and kissing the top of her head in a friendly way.


	4. Weasley's Weather Whereabouts

**Chapter 4: Weasley's Weather Whereabouts**

Hermione would have liked to sleep in, but the excited sound of kids hurdling down the stairs of the Burrow made it next-to impossible, not that Ron's incessant snoring helped the situation. At least when she'd been sleeping in bed _with _him, she could roll him over, but sleeping across the room in the bed that Harry used to take was awful. She had no idea how Harry had put up with it. Until she thought of the Dursleys, at least, and realized that any loud snoring of Ron's was probably still better than his cousin's pig-like grunting.

Hermione rolled out of bed and went over to prod Ron.

"Wake up," she demanded, sitting on his bed with a yawn and poking him continuously until he finally woke up.

"What?" he asked, as he rolled over and tugged at his covers.

"It's Christmas morning," she said, tugging at his covers.

"I don't care," he mumbled, letting her pull off his covers but then burying his head underneath a pillow. "Presents will still be there later."

She looked down at him, wearing his childish boxers, which were covered in Quaffles and Bludgers and Snitches zooming around. "If you don't get up _now_, someone else is bound to come wake you. D'you really want to let Angelina or Fleur see you like this?"

"Don't care," he murmured. "Not as if I'm trying to shag my sisters-in-law."

She sighed and stood up. If he was still a teenager, the mere thought of either woman (or any woman, for that matter) seeing him in an embarrassing pair of boxers would have been enough to make his ears turn red, but now, it didn't even faze him. She walked toward the door, head hung in defeat, when a wicked thought entered her head. "Yeah, I s'pose you wouldn't care if they saw you like that. I wonder what would happen if _George _came with Angelina, though, and if _he _decided to take a photograph or two. Wouldn't that be a funny Christmas card to send out to all our friends and co-workers at the Ministry?"

Her threat had the desired effect, and Ron shot out of bed, scrambling to put on a pair of trousers and an old Chudley Cannons shirt.

"You're one wicked witch, Hermione Granger," Ron said, shivering.

"And don't you forget it, Ronald Weasley," she replied, pulling on a bathrobe and heading down the stairs behind him, a smile on her face.

When they got downstairs, little fingers were already tearing into the mound of presents underneath the tree, and some not-so-little fingers were doing the same. She saw George Weasley excitedly tearing into all of their presents from Mrs. Weasley, which were all Weasley sweaters, and he was tossing them across the room at their recipients.

"Is it me, or does he like opening presents more than the actual presents themselves?" Hermione asked Ron.

Ron thought about this for a moment. "I think you might be right. Next year, I'll just get him a dozen wrapped boxes that are empty."

"Think he'll notice?" she asked smartly.

Ron just smiled and walked over to give his mum and dad a hug.

Hermione saw the commotion around the tree and bypassed it, heading for the kitchen instead. She could use a cup of coffee. She'd only gotten a few hours of sleep, which she was fine with. She worked eighty hours a week when she was working on reforms that were set to go before her peers, and sleep wasn't really a part of her schedule, but she always had coffee.

In the kitchen, she saw Harry, Ginny, Fleur, and Bill at the table, already wearing their Weasley sweaters. Hermione glanced at her wristwatch and saw that it was only 7:14. How was it possible that she was _late_?

"Happy Christmas," she said, pouring herself a cup of coffee and sitting at the table in a rare moment where children weren't around, probably because they were being spoiled by their grandparents in the other room.

"Happy Christmas, Hermione," they all echoed, Fleur with a slightly less noticeable French accent, finally pronouncing her name properly.

"Have you all already had a chance to open gifts?" she asked them, eyeing their Weasley sweaters.

"No," Harry explained with a grin. "We'll let the kids -"

"-and George-" Ginny added in.

"And George," Harry agreed, "have their fun for now, and we'll open ours later when they nap."

"Nap?" Hermione asked. "How d'you know to plan for a nap later? They hardly look like they're willing to part with all their new toys for a bit of downtime."

"They'll tucker themselves out," Bill said with a grin. "They always do."

Hermione just smiled and nodded, unsure of what else to say. They knew children better than she did, after all. And there were so many of them already, with more on the way, Fleur, Ginny, and Angelina all being pregnant. If there was one thing that could be said for the Weasley family, it was that there were a lot of them. They were quite prolific.

She was facing the doorway and saw Fred approaching this time, carrying a maroon sweater with the initial 'H' on it. Funnily enough, it had a lightning bolt on it.

"Here," Fred said, handing it to her, sitting down in the only empty spot left at the table. "I reckon this was meant for Harry, but she ran out of maroon yarn after making Ron's sweater, so she just left it smaller."

When Hermione looked at Harry, she saw that his sweater was a vibrant blue color, her favorite, and had a starburst on it.

"I think you're probably right," she said, and everyone at the table laughed.

She removed her bathrobe and shrugged on the Weasley sweater, appreciative of it nonetheless. Mrs. Weasley's heart was in the right place, and with so many people to make sweaters for, she was just glad she was still getting one. Fleur had started receiving them after the war, and Angelina only started receiving them after she and George got married.

Once their laughter subsided, they were interrupted by eight owls simultaneously pecking at the door. Hermione got up to open the door, and the owls dispersed, four of them dropping copies of the Prophet in the kitchen, and the other four flying into the living room. It seemed that she wasn't the only one on the prepaid subscription plan, as all eight of the owls flew back out the door after delivering their mail to their rightful owners.

Hermione closed the door after the owls, and poured herself another cup of coffee. She was in no hurry to see what the Prophet was reporting on Christmas day. It was usually all fluff with advertising strewn about.

"So, what are they jabbering on about now?" Hermione asked, when she saw a wide-eyed expression on Fleur's face and a carefully-controlled neutral one on Bill's. Harry was tightlipped, staring at the front page, while Ginny couldn't take her eyes off Fred. He looked angry, chucked his copy of the Prophet into the garbage bin, and lit it on fire in an uncharacteristic fit of anger.

Hermione blinked in confusion, then walked over to her seat, where her copy of the Prophet lay. To her shock, _she _was on the front cover. But not just _her_ alone. There, in a huge photograph, was Fred, his arm around Hermione, kissing the top of her head as a smile appeared on her lips. She stared at it, as the photograph continued to repeat itself, snow falling, Hermione wrapping her arms around Fred in a hug, him kissing the top of her head, her snuggling into his arms, over and over again.

Finally, she glanced up at the top and saw the Special Christmas Edition mark stamped across the top of the Daily Prophet, bold words saying, "Diagon Alley's Tree Lighting Ceremony Draws Crowd of Over Five Hundred," with smaller print saying, "War Heroes in Attendance" beneath.

Her jaw tensed. When had the Prophet reverted back to publishing gossipy drivel like this, and on the front page? She supposed that no harm was meant, as it _was _a special Christmas edition that _always _published fluff, and it wasn't as if anything bad was said about her, and without reading it, she couldn't pinpoint anything inaccurate.

Hermione read underneath the picture and saw that, indeed, nothing untrue had been said. Surrounding the picture of Hermione and Fred cozied up, there were pictures of other people at the lighting ceremony. All that had been said specifically about Hermione was a small paragraph.

_Several Ministry officials were in attendance including the newly promoted Head of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, Order of Merlin, First Class recipient, Hermione Granger, who enjoyed the festivities from atop Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes with Owner/Operator and Order of Merlin, Second Class recipient, Fred Weasley._

Nothing was said, but the implication of a relationship was there, in a caption which read, 'Hermione Granger and Fred Weasley cozy up for an unobstructed view of the lighting ceremony.'

_Bloody reporters_. They were parasites. How the _hell _had they spotted them and managed to take a picture without them noticing? Now, she was going to get _hoards _of questions from everyone, and she half-expected to receive a few howlers, calling her all sorts of nasty names for going from brother-to-brother, as they would undoubtedly put it. Never mind the fact that she _wasn't with _Fred and hadn't dated Ron in ages.

The picture was damning, she had to say. It would give anyone the wrong idea.

"Sorry, Hermione," Fred said stiffly, getting up from the table.

"Fred, wait," Hermione called, but he was already gone, out the back door.

She threw her Prophet into the garbage bin, on top of his, and had a right mind to light it on fire herself. She sighed and ran her hand through her hair, a habit she'd picked up from Harry.

No doubt he was beating himself up with guilt for taking her there. He'd meant no harm, so there was no way she could blame anything on him. He wanted her to see the lighting ceremony, without being hassled by the public. There was no way he could know that paparazzi would find them regardless and plaster their private moment on the front page of the Prophet. Still, she knew how self-deprecating Fred tended to be. She'd had thirteen years to learn that about him.

And she knew he'd be getting harassment and questioning about the picture just the same as she would be. She wanted to tell him that there was nothing that could be done and that she still really appreciated his gesture, but she knew she wasn't going to be able to do that in the state he was currently in. He needed time to cool down, and if she knew him, he was doing so on a broomstick out back, beating a bludger to hell and back, while balancing gracefully in the air.

She blinked, as she realized that her body was flushing at the thought of him doing this. She knew him very well, indeed, didn't she?

"So is that where you snuck off to last night?" Ron asked, as he came into the kitchen and deposited his Prophet in the trash as well.

"Sorry," she apologized, as Ron took Fred's former seat. "Fred sort of apparated us off without warning, after everyone else had gone to bed."

"You always wanted to see that lighting ceremony, didn't you?" Ron asked, a smile on his face. "I remember you talking about it while we were still in school."

"Yes, actually," she said, beaming at Ron for remembering as well.

"Parasites," Ginny said in disgust, tossing her and Harry's copy of the Prophet on the growing pile of them in the kitchen's trashcan. "Can't get a moment of peace, can you?"

"Welcome to my whole life," Harry said, shaking his head.

And then, it was as if everything was back to normal. The slight awkward tension that had filled the kitchen after the owls' delivery was thwarted by her best friends shrugging off the news.

"Oh, I see," Fleur said, silkily. "Fred waz being nice. He'e I waz thinking zat zey had affections for each uzzer. My meestake."

Hermione tried to control her blush, as Fleur hit the nail on the head of what Hermione was starting to question herself.

"C'mon," Ron said, putting his arm around Hermione with a laugh. "You're really losing your touch, Fleur. Hermione and _Fred_?"

"Yes, that _eez _preposterous," Fleur said, with a smile and a sleek, raised brow directed at Hermione.

Bill didn't chime in, although he had a knowing smile on his face that mirrored his wife's, as the rest of the table laughed.

Nearly an hour had passed since Fred had stormed out the back door sullenly, and Hermione was starting to worry. Snow was falling heavily outside, and it looked like no one else cared much that he was out there. George was pitching the idea to Ginny and Angelina, who both had children inside them already doing magic, to have dueling babies. Harry had made the mistake of saying that he thought the idea would be hilarious, and Ginny was glaring at him for it. Bill, Fleur, and Charlie were now in the kitchen, discussing Charlie's latest travels studying dragons, which had taken him to Bulgaria. Charlie had engaged Hermione in conversation about Bulgaria, or attempted to anyway, although her mind was elsewhere.

It wasn't until he mentioned a familiar name that Hermione gained interest.

"Met Viktor Krum," Charlie said in passing. "Recognized me as a Weasley immediately. I'd forgotten that he'd been at Hogwarts for the Triwizard Tournament while Fred, George, and Ron were attending."

"Indeed," Fleur said, clasping her slender hand around Bill's. "It's hard to forget you Weasleys. Although I am grateful for zat."

Hermione couldn't help but smile at the way Fleur looked at Bill, adoration and love filling her eyes, and she focused instead on Charlie.

"You didn't meet him during the Triwizard Tournament?" Hermione asked, in surprise. "I thought you met all the champions."

"No," Charlie said, shaking his head. "I saw him compete, but my job was to deal with the dragons, not with the wizards. I only really said hello to Harry, because I already knew him."

"I see," she replied, nodding. "So how was it you met him?"

"Krum?" Charlie asked. "Me mates and I went to a local wizarding pub near Sofia, and he and _his_ mates caused quite a stir when they arrived, since he's so famous and all. Krum didn't look pleased with the attention, but he approached me immediately and said he recognized that hair anywhere."

"How was he?" Hermione blurted, before she could help herself.

Charlie looked at her oddly. "He's good. Talked Quidditch mostly, said he was considering signed for a British or Spanish team. Said he loved his country but that the Slavic league couldn't compare. Was glad that someone was treatin' him normally. And then he asked about me own family. Figured it was just a polite question ta ask, until I got ta Ron, and he seemed particularly interested."

"Did he?" Hermione asked carefully.

"He did," Charlie confirmed slowly. "Told him Ron was fine, although he'd been a bit off after you two split up."

"You steel keep in touch with Veektor, yes?" Fleur asked silkily.

"You know Krum?" Charlie asked, cocking his head to the side, until he remembered something and opened his mouth in realization. "That's right. You two danced at their wedding."

"Our vedding was not ze first time zey danced togezzer," Fleur corrected. "The Yule Ball waz."

"Bloody hell," Charlie said. "You dated Viktor Krum?"

"No," Hermione said, shaking her head. "Of course not."

"Come on, Charlie," Ginny said with an evil laugh. "They only snogged."

"Ginny!" Hermione exclaimed, turning scarlet. "That was ages ago. Besides, I haven't talked to him in years. It became a bit of an issue while Ron and I were dating, so I stopped talking to him. Stupid of me, really, but once Ron and I were broken up, and I realized that, I didn't have the galls to start owling him again."

"Well," Charlie said, shrugging, "he may owl you. He looked giddy when I told him Ron was single, and I guess I know why now."

"How long ago was that?" Hermione asked, furrowing her brows.

"Right before I flew 'cross Europe to come here," Charlie said.

"If he doesn't, I may have to get over myself and owl him," Hermione said bravely. "We were such good friends. I'd forgotten until... until Oliver took me to an England/Bulgaria match. I sat on the English side with Oliver's parents, of course, so I don't think Viktor saw me, but I saw him. He looked well."

"He vould have said something if he had known you vere there," Fleur said confidently. "He still asks about you in his letters to me."

"Does he?" Hermione asked, in surprise. "He must not have known I dated Oliver."

The wind blew hard against the back door, rattling it on its hinges, and Hermione saw that the storm had gotten worse.

"Fred's still out there," Hermione murmured, brought back to her original thoughts. "I'm going to get him. He's going to freeze to death on that stupid broom of his."

Hermione stood up, swung her legs around the bench, summoned her coat, the one that Fred liked so much, and threw it on over her Weasley sweater, not giving a damn that it clashed horribly. She walked to the door and opened it.

"Go with her," Fleur demanded of Bill.

She didn't see Bill respond, but she felt him behind her when the door closed.

It was even colder outside than she'd thought. Yesterday when she'd gone out around the same time, the sun was shining brightly, a light layer of snow on the ground, and it had been chilly but manageable. Now, however, the sun had completely disappeared, and snow was bombarding the ground. Her feet sank into at least a foot of snow already, when she took her first step, and the wind that was blowing along with the storm blew the snow right into her face, causing her fingertips to feel chilled.

She looked out but didn't see Fred in the sky. She took another step, and her feet sank in even further.

"Do you think he disapparated?" Hermione asked, crossing her arms and shivering.

"I don't think he'd go back to his flat on Christmas," Bill said, shaking his head. "He's probably up there, where we used to play Quidditch as kids."

"You think he's still out here, even in this weather?" Hermione asked in disbelief. "I was thinking that he might have gone into the village nearby, or even Ottery St. Catchpole."

"Even if he could have found someone outside in this weather, I very much doubt that he'd fancy socializing," Bill said, rejecting her idea. "It's rare that Fred gets so peeved, and when he does, he isolates himself from everyone but George. And since George is in the living room with Angelina, I think he's gone out to blow off steam."

She nodded and bit her bottom lip, trudging forward. What sort of a freak weather pattern was going on for it to be _this _cold in the south of England? She rarely even saw snow like this in the north of England, where she grew up.

Taking another step, she groaned in frustration and took out her wand, flicking it toward the broomshed and _Accio_-ing two broomsticks from the shed. One of them was Ron's ancient Cleansweep Eleven and the other, his Shooting Star.

Hermione knew _very _little about broomsticks, despite being best friends with one professional Quidditch player, having received her first kiss from another professional Quidditch player, and being almost constantly surrounded by Quidditch-crazed people like Harry and Ron. However, she knew enough to know that these brooms were more than outdated and rubbish. She supposed that she was lucky that the broomshed here even had these two, as she assumed all of the Weasley children held their own current broomsticks at home. In fact, she knew it to be true. The flat she used to share with Ron held a special _Quidditch _room with signed memorabilia from the Chudley Cannons ("they're _sixth _in the league now; can you believe it?!") and a wall of different model Firebolts, which Ron's crappy Quidditch team couldn't even afford to buy for themselves.

Ginny pandered to Ron's love for the Cannons, although she was doing it to laugh at him, which he didn't seem to realize in his thankfulness. Hermione just wondered what Ron would do now that Ginny was considering making this her final season, with the arrival of her second child. He'd be cut off from the memorabilia and free tickets. Somehow, the thought didn't sadden her too much.

She snapped out of her thoughts and sighed, handing Bill one of the broomsticks and mounting the other. She kicked off, though only barely, as she almost slipped and fell into the snow.

Bill seemed to have none of the same problems she did, and he zoomed ahead of her at a speed she thought was impossible, considering the age and quality of the broom. She then reminded herself that he actually grew up with this and enjoyed it. So she followed him, gripping the worn wood of her broom tightly.

He led her to the top of a hill, where trees obstructed their view from any Muggles, although she hardlythought that anyone would be out in this storm, and even if they were, there wasn't a chance in hell anyone would be able to see through the blizzard anyway. Shecould hardly see Bill in front of her.

"Fred!" she yelled, flying upward to get a better look. It was useless to do so. She couldn't see. "Fred! Are you out here?"

She nearly fell off her broom when she felt someone prod her back. She turned to see Bill there, with his finger on his lips.

"He's hiding," Bill said quietly.

"_Hiding?_" Hermione asked in disbelief. "What is he? _Twelve_?"

Bill's lips curved upwards, and he laughed. He then nodded behind her to the forest. "There's an old tree house that Fred and George built when they were little over there. I saw him duck in there when you started shouting."

"Why didn't you say anything?" Hermione asked bluntly. "We have to get him inside. _I _want to get inside. It's freezing out here."

"I figured you might want to have a go getting him inside, before I do," Bill suggested smoothly.

Hermione narrowed her eyes at him, then flushed when she realized that he did, indeed, seem to have caught onto her little crush, if she could even call it that.

"Thanks," she murmured, turning her broomstick to face where Bill had pointed.

"I'll be inside," he said, shooting back off in the direction of the Burrow.

Hermione flew Ron's ruddy broomstick toward where Bill had said the tree house was. It wasn't until she nearly crashed into it that she saw it. It was at the very top of a tree, and it hadn't been the snow that had obstructed her view of it. There had been a charm of some sort concealing it. And when she landed on the fenced off balcony area she assumed was for landing, she also noticed that it was hardly an ordinary tree house. She saw that it'd been magically expanded, and it almost looked the size of a small flat when she touched down.

Hermione knocked on the small half-door, before she pushed it open. She ducked underneath the low entrance and waddled in, standing up straight once she was in. She closed the door behind her. She was grateful that it wasn't as cold, and when she looked up, she saw a small fire in the middle of the place.

She didn't comment on a fire in a wooden tree house. She was too busy staring at the red-haired wizard looking right back at her. He was only wearing his forest-green Weasley sweater and a pair of jeans, and he looked much more decent than she did, wearing the same pajama pants she'd worn yesterday, a maroon, lightning-bolt Weasley sweater, and the coat he liked.

She shook the snow off her broomstick and set it next to his. She then crossed the room and sat down next to him silently. He was still regarding her with a blank look on his face.

She saw his flushed cheeks and his red nose which matched his short, flaming red hair. He had a few freckles across the bridge of his nose, but it looked like he'd mostly grown out of the them with age, the way she'd noticed both Ron and Ginny had. As she searched his brown eyes, she saw that they had green streaks on the outside with some green specks near the middle, too, and she realized he actually had hazel eyes, like Harry's, instead of just brown ones.

After a short silence, a smile formed on Hermione's lips, and she said, "so I heard you came in here to hide like a big baby when you saw me coming."

"_Bill_," Fred growled in annoyance.

"Yes, _Bill_," Hermione mocked, rolling her eyes.

With the ice broken, she took off her coat and sat it next to her. Fred's fire was making this place nice and toasty.

"So, why'd you hide anyway? You should know better than to think your family's going to give any heed to the Prophet," she said, growing annoyed with him. "They don't think you and I are dating or anything like that, if that's what you're worried about."

Fred shook his head firmly. "I couldn't give two knuts about that."

"What then?" she asked. "Were you worried that I'd be upset? Because I'm hardly going to blame you for those lechers printing what they want."

He shook his head again. "No, I know you're too rational for that."

"So why?" she questioned again, poking him in the side and smiling at him. "Why did you run off on Christmas morning in a blizzard?"

He sighed and shook his head again. "I just got annoyed. There aren't a lot of things that really get my knickers in a twist. I don't get annoyed easily. More than George. Less than Percy. Somewhere in there. One of the things that annoys me is picking on people who can't defend themselves."

"I know that," she said, breaking him off. "And people getting hurt who don't deserve to be hurt. I still remember when you gave me that salve for bruises."

"Right," he said. "Another is my privacy. I grew up in a house where _nothing _was private, and unlike Ron, I never really threw a fit about it. I found ways to keep what I needed to keep private _just _private enough, but even if I was found out, I didn't particularly care. It just gave me more of a challenge to conquer, which was always fun. But my personal relationships are _private_. And not _Weasley _private. But actually _private_."

She nodded in understanding. He was annoyed, just as she was, that someone had encroached on a private moment and captured it on film. It hadn't been a particularly scandalous moment, like when she'd been caught snogging Oliver Wood for the first time, or when she'd been caught sunbathing topless in France. It had been a touching, private moment between friends, something for which he'd felt violated because some scumbag photographer had decided to invade.

"I understand, and I'm not happy about it either," she agreed, reaching her hand out and placing it on his knee. "I'm expecting backlash from nosy witches and wizards, but I'm trying not to think about that now. It _is _Christmas, you know? So let's think about the positives. Maybe I can get the original color photo and frame it. It _is _a rather good shot of us. Shows how gentle and affectionate you are underneath all of the mischief."

His grimace slowly turned into a smile, the glint returning to his eye. "If you get the photo, I want a copy of it, too."

"You do?" she questioned, raising her eyebrows at him.

He nodded firmly. "Even in black-and-white, you can see your cheeks are flushed. You've also got a little grin on your face, and you already know how I feel about that coat. It's a better photo of you than it is of me."

"Hardly," she said, blushing. "I'm wearing these pajama pants in the photo."

"So?" he asked, laughing. "You birds and your clothes. No bloke in his right mind even noticed your bottoms."

"Fred Weasley," she squeaked. "It almost sounds as if you're flirting with me."

"Isn't that what I've been doing for months now?" he asked, cocking his head to the side, staring at her in disbelief.

"Sorry?" she asked, gaping at him.

"Since you and Wood split," he repeated, shaking his head. "You're a _girl_. You _can't _have been blind to it. It's not like any of us Weasleys carry the subtlety gene."

Fred craned his head forward and down, until he was nose to nose with her, and he searched her eyes for a long time, before he leaned back and laughed heartily.

"You really _hadn't _noticed," he said, laughing madly at her.

Hermione turned crimson, opening and closing her mouth like a fish.

Finally, she sputtered, "but you're Ron's brother."

Fred's laughter died immediately, and he sighed. "Had to go and ruin the moment, didn't you?"

Her face was burning, and she pulled her knees to her chest, putting her head in her arms on top of them, making herself as small and as invisible as she could.

"Listen Granger," he requested, "girls who don't annoy me on a core level are hard to come by. You haven't always been one of them, but somewhere along the way that changed. And you're bloody good-looking, no matter what you say, or how much you try to tell me that doesn't matter, because it does, on some level, at least a bit. When you and Ron split up and you started spending time with the rest of us, I developed some of those emotion things you women preach about all the time, but I didn't do anything because I'd honestly thought you and Ron would end up together again.

"But then you moved on. With Wood. Now, I _like_ Wood. He's a bloody good Keeper, and he's always been a mate of mine. But he's _crazy _to have ended things with you. You've been crying _all _the time since then, and Ron hasn't done a ruddy thing about it, so either he's daft, or your relationship truly is over. Either way, there was no way I wasn't going to make a move."

She peeked up at him, to see if he was serious. For once, he actually appeared to be. He was looked at the fire as he spoke, and he ran his hands through his straw-like red hair in mild frustration.

"So last week when I ran into you at the Ministry, you weren't there to see your dad?" she asked quietly. "Because I felt _awful _about having lunch with you."

"No," he laughed, "I wasn't there to see Dad."

"And two weeks ago when you took me to dinner, did George really ditch you last second because Angelina made him go crib-shopping?" she asked.

"No, no, no," Fred said, shaking his head. "And thank Merlin you didn't ask either of them, because George would have covered for me, but Angelina would have gone on a rant about not being 'that type' of girl. Her hormones have been impossible to deal with lately."

"Have you..." Her voice broke, and she looked down again, thinking about the Scottish Quidditch player who broke her heart and wanting to know whether Fred knew why. But she couldn't bring herself to ask, so she switched questions. "... err... seen me cry much?"

"A few times," he admitted, sheepishly.

"I'm sorry I didn't realize," she said quietly, looking away again. "It's really not you. I've just been preoccupied. Ollie - _Oliver _- I loved him."

"I know," Fred said quietly. "Why I haven't just gone and said I fancy you outright. Wanted to give you a bit of space. Angelina suggested that."

Hermione blushed. She'd been completely oblivious, guilty of the stupidity she accused the men around her of having for years, but she hadn't been in her right state-of-mind. It was hard for her to get over break-ups. She'd only had two in her life, and both of them had been long relationships. With Oliver, it was even worse because she never got the closure she wanted of finding out why, and a small part of her still irrationally thought that she must have done _something_. And to top it all off, she was head-over-heels for the wizard when he ended things. It had been completely one way. She'd had her heart ripped out and stomped on.

And now, she had Fred here, telling her he fancied her, with his beautiful hazel eyes, his goofy smile, his skilled charm and potions work, and his unexpected consideration for her feelings. She didn't know what to say, so she said the only thing that kept popping into her mind, even though she was afraid it might sound stupid.

"Last night was the first time I hadn't thought about him for longer than an hour or two," she admitted.

"When we went into town, and you got onto George and I for messing with Muggles?" he asked, a little grin on his face.

"No," she replied sadly. She'd actually thought of Oliver when they'd met the shopkeeper, who looked a bit like his mum. "It was when that photo of us was taken. The entire time I was with you, from the time we played Gobstones to when you took me home, I didn't think about him. First, I was thinking about how much fun I was having, and how intelligent and humble you are, and then I just couldn't stop thinking about how you remembered that I wanted to see the ceremony, and how warm you are."

"But then you thought about him when you got back," Fred said hesitantly.

She thought about it for a moment and shook her head. "Actually, I hadn't thought about him until Charlie mentioned Viktor a while ago, and I remembered that the last time I saw him was when I'd seen Oliver play in the England/Bulgaria match."

"What did you think about when we got back here last night?" Fred asked. "I know you've had trouble sleeping since the war and can't just pass out."

She was surprised again at how much he knew about her, just like she knew more about him than she'd realized. She wondered if she knew this much about the rest of the Weasley family, too. The only people she probably knew more about were Ron and Ginny.

"You," she admitted.

Fred turned his body to face her, and he reached out his hand, cupping her cheek. He leaned in.

"Bugger what Angelina says," he said, and he brought his lips down to hers.

She couldn't help but compare them to Ron's. His were softer, signifying that he probably didn't chew on them the way Ron did. His kiss was more probing, more experienced, and his tongue was past her lips in a mere moment. She felt his nose rub against hers, and it felt cold, while his hand and lips burned.

She brought her hand to his arm, to his Weasley sweater, and let him kiss her, as much as he wanted, because she couldn't think about anything other than his lips, and how good they felt.

* * *

**Author's Note**: Fluff, fluff, fluff! :D Let me know what you guys think. Haven't gotten a whole lot of feedback on this story.


	5. Weasleys' Wizard Gobstones

**Chapter 5: Weasleys' Wizard Gobstones**

Just as Bill had predicted, at two o'clock, after a hearty Christmas lunch, the house was quiet as all children were asleep, and some of the adults had joined them as well. Hermione, though tired, still hadn't opened her Christmas presents, some of which were still being carried in by miscellaneous owls.

In her pile of presents, she had several new books, work supplies, useful wizarding gadgets, a new set of formal robes with her name and title embroidered on it (courtesy of Percy Weasley, which she reckoned was his way of telling her to dress nicer for work), a card from Fred and George which gave her the right to revise one product she deemed either dangerous or immoral (she already knew which one), a hand-drawn picture of the late Crookshanks from little Teddy (which actually made her tear up), a new laptop from her parents (who offered it as an alternative to quill and parchment), miscellaneous gift cards, sweets, and gift bags from co-workers, a heap of letters and presents from admirers that she'd donate to charity like every year, an 'adopted' endangered species of dragon from Charlie (who'd made the donation on her behalf and promised to send her pictures of him as he grew), and two presents she hadn't opened yet, because they had come last. She was surprised at the return address on the packages.

"What's that?" Ron asked, opening up every one of the chocolate frogs in a giant gift basket he'd received full of them, still trying to find the one he was still missing - his own.

"It's from Viktor," she said, blinking.

"From Krum?" Ron asked, putting back down the chocolate frog he was about to put in his mouth.

"That's what it says," she replied quietly. At least he wasn't calling him 'Vicky' anymore.

"Well, open it up. Let's see what ol' Vicky has to say," he urged.

She nearly laughed at the irony but didn't. Some things never changed. At least this way, she had gotten the push she needed to rip open the small package. Inside, there was a small gold coin, that looked like leprechaun gold. She turned it over to see if there was anything distinguishable on the back, but there wasn't. She dug further inside and found a letter.

_'Dearest Hermione,_

_ It's been my regret that we have not spoken in years. I have taken the initiative to send you a Christmas present in hopes that our correspondence may once more begin, as I have greatly missed your company. Your brilliant mind stimulates me the way athletics do not, and has always surpassed even what I have learned during my ventures in academia at Durmstrang. When I learned your relationship with Ronald has ended, I questioned why you have not spoken to me, but I know very well your personality and hesitation you have probably felt._

_ If my thinking was wrong, you may disregard this letter. I do not wish to force anything unwanted upon you._

_ As for your Christmas present, you may be wondering what it is. It is a permanent portkey which can be activated by holding it and saying the phrase 'Quidditch through the Ages.' It takes you to Ireland, specifically to Ballycastle. You never visited me in Bulgaria as I had offered, but I signed for the Ballycastle Bats last week, so I hope you will visit me there. Or I will be able to visit you as well._

_ Respectfully yours,_

_ Viktor'_

Hermione stared at the coin for a few moments before pocketing it, and the letter. Ron, who'd been reading over her shoulder obnoxiously, couldn't stop the comments from leaking out between his lips.

"Oh _really_? He expects you to just up and go to _Ireland _to meet him, just because he's suddenly signed for the number one team in the league? Guess what, Vicky? You didn't go to visit him for a reason in Bulgaria, and you aren't going to visit him in Ireland either. And of _course _you know more than they've taught him at that third-rate, dark arts peddling, excuse for a school of witchcraft and wizardry. And that signing? 'Respectfully yours?' He can bite himself. He thinks he _knows _you? He doesn't _know _you. He hardly knows English. He-"

But Hermione had enough. She cut him off with a furious silencing curse she'd murmured under her breath. She narrowed her eyes at him, looking around and seeing everyone else trying to enjoy their holidays, and decided she'd explode at him later.

"I didn't visit him in Bulgaria because of _you_. I didn't keep in touch with him because of _you_. And he _does _know me fairly well. Not as well as you, in some respects, because I never gave him the chance, but _better _in others, because he's more common sense and perception than you'll ever possess. And lastly, I wouldn't make fun of his English. I'd like to see you say a _sentence _in another language. Because he's fluent in _three_," she lectured, gritting her teeth, and undoing the curse on him. "I think I _will _be visiting him, thank you very much."

She was so beside herself that she'd started tearing into her last package, which had very strong magic surrounding it. When it was unwrapped, her eyes nearly bulged out of her head at the sight before her. It was a tiny, orange half-Kneazle, one that had looked exactly like Crooks had. Except this one was still young.

It didn't meow at her. It merely staggered over to her awkwardly, sniffed at her, looked at her suspiciously, and then, deciding she was trustworthy, it fell into her lap, fast asleep. She saw on the box that it was from a specialty pet delivery service, and the box had been padded and had a magical supply of light and oxygen.

Hermione instantly fell in love with her, hugged her to her chest, and kissed the top of her head. The cat stirred a bit, then pawed at her, to let her go back to sleep.

"Another bloody cat," Ron murmured, now grumpily chewing his chocolate frogs. "'Sthat from Vicky, too?"

Hermione sent him a warning glare, thanking Merlin that at least Ron had grown enough sense to know not to argue with her when she was pissed off with him.

She reached into the box and opened the letter.

_'Hermione,_

_ I heard you lost Crooks last month. I didn't know. I'm so sorry I wasn't there. I know how much he meant to you. He really was an extraordinary animal, one that even dog lovers such as myself had to respect and fall in love with. I know that no one will ever be able to take his place, and I feel shorted _for _you because you received Crooks so late in his life._

_ I know it isn't in my place to be sending you condolences or Christmas presents under the circumstances, so don't consider this a Christmas present, even though it was so elaborately wrapped. I found Minerva at a shelter in Dorchester. It's not really a shelter, more like a place where they put down magical animals they find in regular Muggle shelters. She's still young and the only one out of her mum's litter to have survived. I thought you might like the chance to save another critter's life, but this time, you should have her for much longer, if fate so permits it._

_ I know you were planning to spend Christmas at the Weasleys', which would have been close enough for me to drop off Minerva in-person, but I wasn't sure if those plans had changed. And even if they hadn't, I thought you might not want to see me. Luckily, I remembered you telling me about a service for safely transporting animals via owl, and I used that instead. I hope Minerva finds you all right and that you have a wonderful Christmas._

_ I also went ahead and put season tickets on hold for your dad and sent him a new Puddlemere United scarf. I know I've sort of got him addicted to Quidditch, so I wanted to still make good on my promise. He can sit next to Alfer's dad, since he's a Muggle and enjoys Quidditch, too. Make sure he doesn't feel weird about taking it, alright?_

_ With love,_

_ Oliver_

_ P.S. Sorry about the name. You know how stubborn Kneazles are. She responds to either Minerva or Minnie, I've noticed, so... maybe Minnie if McGonagall is around. Otherwise it might be a bit akward.'_

Hermione's heart rose into her throat, and she stopped breathing. Oliver had given her a cat. He'd been the only person who had done more than given her a pat on the back in apology for losing Crookshanks, and he'd found a needy animal to give to an equally needy person. And he'd even humanely transported her.

Hermione looked down at the little kitten in her lap and hugged her tightly, finding her so much special now. She was _perfect_, a gift beyond all other gifts, even if Oliver had said not to count it as one.

And he'd even given her dad a present, even though they'd broken up.

"Hi, Minnie," she whispered to the cat, tears springing to her eyes. "I bet you're the smartest cat around, to have survived among Muggles."

The cat opened her eyes and looked at Hermione. She licked Hermione's face once.

"Oliver found you, rescued you, didn't he?" she asked the cat, who nodded slightly, as if confirmation. "Well, you'll have a good home with me as long as you want it, okay?"

The cat nodded again, and in exhaustion, fell asleep in Hermione's arms again. Hermione sniffled, burying her head in the little kitten's fur, willing herself not to cry.

"Are you alright, Hermione?" Ginny asked. She'd shoved Ron out of the way to sit next to Hermione near the window. "Have you got a kitten there?"

"Yes," she replied, stroking the animal lovingly, with watery eyes. "Her name's Minnie. O-Oliver sent her to me because I lost Crooks."

Ginny reached her hand out to pet the kitten, who opened her eyes and closed them again. Ginny looked over her shoulder and shared a meaningful look with Harry.

"Oliver sent you a cat for Christmas?" Ginny questioned, taking the letter from beside the now crying Hermione.

She skimmed it, then handed it to Harry. When Hermione looked at Harry, she saw a quiet rage on the man's face. Harry passed the letter to Ron, who looked even angrier. He stood up, muttered 'fucking bastard,' and stormed out the room, Harry following him.

"How can he send me something so perfect?" Hermione whispered to Ginny, looking down at the cat.

Ginny took Minnie from Hermione, and placed her in the kitten bed that had come inside the box. Hermione let her take it, and let Ginny envelope Hermione in the hug that followed. Unable to stop the floodgates any longer, Hermione sobbed into Ginny Potter's Weasley jumper.

"Why does he still have to be so nice, even though he broke my heart?" Hermione asked, wrapping her arms around the tiny red-haired woman.

"He's a jerk," Ginny replied haughtily.

"He's not though, is he?" Hermione asked, hiccuping. "You read that letter. He's so considerate that it makes everything harder. I'd just begun to forget how wonderful he is, and then he does this to remind me."

"That's what makes him a jerk," Ginny replied. "With any luck, Ron finds and kills him before Harry stops him. Not that Harry looked like he wanted to stop him."

"What?" Hermione asked in a panic, pulling away from Ginny.

"I'm sure Harry'll stop him." Ginny assured her, disappointment evident in her voice.

"D'you think this means that he wants to get back together?" Hermione asked, her breath catching in her throat.

Before Ginny had a chance to answer, Fred and George strolled through the door with a box comprised of several smaller boxes, which already had an elaborate design on the box and a plastic window which showed a bag in the background, several marbles on the inside, and a piece of chalk. The boxes read "Weasleys' Warrior Gobstones" on them.

"Prototypes of our new product, available next month, thanks to help from the talented Hermione Granger," Fred announced proudly, lowering the palate to the floor.

"Weasleys' Warrior Gobstones!" George said.

"Introducing a fourth variation of Gobstones with a bit more bang!" Fred said.

George, who'd been carrying another, looked around the room, which was empty except for Hermione, Ginny, Bill, and Fleur, and cocked his head. "Where is everyone?"

"Napping upstairs," Bill answered. "Except Ron and Harry, who just stormed out."

"Have you been crying?" Fred asked, as if he was in pain, as he looked at Hermione.

He walked over to her and kneeled down next to her. He eyed the kitten sleeping peacefully in her bed, then at Hermione, then at Ginny. Ginny grabbed the letter that Ron had dropped and handed it to Fred. Hermione grabbed at it quickly, not wanting him to read it, but it was too late. Fred grabbed it from Ginny and stood up, his eyes scanning over it, then looking at Hermione's bloodshot eyes again.

"Fucking bastard," Fred said, echoing what Ron had said exactly, and storming out the same doorway that Harry and Ron had gone out of.

Hermione, now knowing what he was up to, stood and ran after him. She caught him at the front gate, where the anti-apparition ward that Mr. Weasley had set up during the final war ended, and she grabbed his arm.

"Ron said the same thing before he stormed off," she said, pulling him back inside the apparition ward. "I don't care that Harry and Ron are pissed, because they've no clue where to find Oliver, and by the time they figure out where he lives, they'll have calmed down, but _you _know where his flat is, so _you're _not going after him."

"I take back what I said about him," Fred said his cheeks flushed, his hazel eyes angry.

"He hasn't done anything wrong," Hermione argued, tears springing to her eyes again.

Fred kicked a garden gnome that was sneaking into the front garden in the belly, sending it flying off. Having nothing else to kick, he then kicked a mound of snow angrily, growling. He then turned to Hermione, his hands reaching out to grab her. He seemed to think better of it, however, and he put his hands in his pockets.

"You've been _crying _for two months straight now, when you think no one is looking. You sometimes zone out and look like you want to cry, and you're barely holding it together. You seemed a bit better though, and now he does this, and makes you cry all over again," Fred said angrily. "How can you say he hasn't done anything wrong?"

"He didn't mean to," Hermione argued. "He promised those tickets to my dad while he and I were still... dating. And he even said that Minnie was-"

"- _no. _He's making it harder for you to move on," Fred said in frustration. "Don't you see that's why everyone's so upset?"

She shrank down and shivered. The blizzard had calmed down, but snow was still falling steadily, and she was only wearing a jumper.

Fred sighed, shrugged off his coat, and put it over her shoulders.

"Go back inside, Hermione," he demanded, turning his back on her and stepping toward the gate again.

"No," she said, reaching out to grab his hand again. "I'm not letting you do whatever it is you're going to do to Oliver. I still think he hasn't done anything wrong."

"D'you really think you can stop me, when you haven't even got your wand?" Fred asked, holding up her wand.

He must have grabbed it from her back pocket when he'd put his coat around her. She grabbed for it, but he held it over his head, like he was playing a game with a child.

Her nostrils flared. "Fred, give me back my wand."

"So you can stop me from beating the living daylights out of Wood?" he asked, snorting at the mere thought.

"I don't want you to go," she said pathetically, tears coming to her eyes again. "Please don't go."

"Because you still love him?" Fred asked.

"No," she said. She didn't know if she still did or didn't. She was leaning toward yes, but that wasn't the reason she didn't want him to go. "Because I'm crying, and if you really like me like you said you do, you'll wrap your arms around me and hold me."

"Ginny can do that," Fred mumbled, lowering her wand to her reach.

Hermione's hand dropped down his arm to his hand, and she shook her head. "Ginny can hug me, and she can comfort me, but she can't hold me and make me feel warm and safe the way you did last night. Nor do I want to snog her."

"Hermione," Fred said in an exasperated tone. "I really don't want to-"

"_Fred_," Hermione pleaded, cutting him off, "can you just forget everything else? When I'm with you, _I _forget everything else. Remember? So _please _just forget everything else, so _I _can forget everything else."

Fred seemed to consider this a moment, and he finally smiled hesitantly and wrapped his arms around her, slipping her wand back into her back pocket.

"Snogging, eh?" Fred whispered, causing her to blush.

"Honestly, I haven't snogged or shagged in far too long," she admitted with a sigh.

"Shagging, eh?" Fred asked, pulling away from her, a broad grin on his face that made him look like a giddy kid in a candy store.

"I'm twenty-four," she said with a self-righteous blush. "I've gotten used to certain things. And I won't apologize for wanting said certain things."

"Like a good shag?" Fred asked, still grinning like mad.

"Yes," she affirmed with an even brighter blush.

"With me?" he asked.

"Yes," she repeated, now turning bright red again.

"Alright then," he said, pulling her past the apparition ward again.

"Alright then?" she asked. "Where are we going?"

"My flat," he answered, looking at her funny. "Where else? I'm not shagging you at the Burrow."

And with a loud _POP! _they were off.


	6. Weasley's Wicked Ways

**Chapter 6: Weasley's Wicked Ways**

She felt a bit dizzy when they landed, but Fred steadied her. He took his coat from around her shoulders and tossed it over the back of his couch. She looked around, never having been wherever it was they now were. The last time she was at his place of residence, it was the flat above the old store in Diagon Alley. She saw hardwood floors, sleek white couches and black tables. She was surprised that he owned a Muggle television. She saw from outside the window that it wasn't snowing at all, so she knew they weren't anywhere near the Burrow.

She didn't have much of a chance to look around further, as his hands found their way to her hips and were crawling around her back. He dipped his head down, and she tilted hers up, her brown eyes meeting his hazel ones. She looked down at his lips, saw his cocky smile, and she couldn't help mirroring that expression as she wrapped her arms around his neck.

"Maroon isn't a bad color for you," he noted, glancing down at her sweater.

"Green is a _beautiful _color on you," she countered.

"I know," he replied, bringing his lips down on hers.

She wanted to tell him off for being so surly, but she was too busy melting into him to do it. He kissed her just as deeply as he had before, but this time, he walked her backward through a doorway and kept going, until the backs of her knees hit something, a bed presumably, and she fell backward onto it, her hands still in his hair.

She let him scoot her up further, let him reach his cold fingers underneath her maroon sweater, let him take over all her senses. She shivered once at the cold, and this distracted him enough to break their kiss and lift his Weasley sweater off his head and toss it onto the ground.

Her eyes raked his newly exposed skin. He had muscular arms that told her he still played Quidditch, perfectly pale skin that had pale pink freckles scattered lightly across his shoulders, tiny pink nipples, and a long lean torso, with a smattering of bright red hair leading down past the waistline of his pants.

When she looked back up at his face, she expected to see a cocky grin, and indeed, it was there.

"Lick your lips for me," he baited. "You know you want to."

She was caught between wanting to roll her eyes and giggling. Giggling won out when she saw his goofy grin approaching her. Instead of his lips meeting hers again, he kissed the tip of her nose, then the corners of her mouth, and then he flicked his tongue out and ran it across her lips, licking them for her.

She continued giggling, even as he put his lips over hers, sucking on her bottom lip. Her hands found his back, and she knew at once that she hadn't warmed up yet either, as goosebumps immediately formed across his skin, and he arched his body into hers.

Fred's mouth moved to her jaw, then down her neck, nibbling, sucking, and licking. His hands moved back down to her waist, crawling underneath her woolen sweater, pulling it up as he went along, until he finally pulled it over her head and tossed it onto the floor. His mouth resumed its kissing, and his hands resumed their roaming, slipping underneath the cups of her bra and running over her nipples. They immediately hardened at his cold touch, and he massaged them. She let him clumsily push her bra over her head instead of unclasping it.

His mouth had now replaced one of his hands, sucking and teething on her nipple, making _her_ arch her back this time and push her hips forward instinctively. When she did this, he sat up and moved his hands to her pants, pulling them - and her panties - off with a solid tug. She hadn't expected to be completely exposed to him so soon, but that thought left her mind when he resumed kissing down her abdomen, toward her belly, to her belly button, and then...

He blew a raspberry in her navel, making her convulse with laughter and completely forget her self-consciousness. She looked at him, saw his mischievous grin, as he winked at her, and collapsed in a whole new fit of laughter when he moved his hands back up to her breast and squeezed them, saying, "meep meep!"

He was back over her again, and he planted a kiss on the tip of her nose, before he captured her laughing lips again.

She was about to express the fact that she'd never had so much fun while being intimate before, when the playful part stopped again, fingers and hands traveling over her shaven skin and circling around her clit. She took in a sharp intake of breath, when he took his middle finger and slid it through her folds and inside her wetness.

"Fred," she moaned, thrusting her hips upward.

Her mind and body were so confused, unable to keep up with his shifts between playful and lustful. But whatever he was doing was electrifying. He kissed her deeply again, adding in another finger, his thumb still circling her clit. She could hardly catch her breath as he began to speed up this motion.

He knew just how to do to this, did it just as she did it herself, and if he kept it up, she would unravel beneath him soon. He seemed to sense this without her having to say this, because his lips traveled back down her jaw and her neck. She blushed scarlet, realizing he was going to finish the job orally.

"Wait," she gasped, grabbing his arms and pulling him upward.

"Yes?" he asked with a goofy grin.

"While what you were about to do is something I would accept and appreciate under normal circumstances, it's not something I want now," she said, as calmly as she could, considering his hand hadn't stopped its motion.

He finally stopped his ministrations and pulled out his fingers, straddling her and throwing his head back and laughing.

"I can get the job done, love," he assured her with a grin.

"Oh," she said, biting her lip. "I know that. Obviously you're... _good _at what you do. I just want you to 'get it done' in another way."

He laughed again, and she wished he'd stop, because she was starting to feel a bit embarrassed. She decided to take matters into her own hands, and she secured her hands in the waistband of his jeans and tugged down, watching as a larger-than-expected cock bounced up and against his belly button.

She stuck her hand out and grasped the length of it, realizing at once that he had a good reason to be _cocky_. She compared the amount sticking out from her small hand to the amount that had stuck out when she had grasped Ron and Oliver like this, and she confirmed what she already suspected - he was definitely larger.

She swallowed hard as she heard him groan gutturally. She looked up and saw the grin on his face wiped off, his eyes darker. He was watching her, watching her stroke his cock. He pulsed in her hand.

"It's been longer than two months for me," he said simply, grabbing her wrist and shaking her off him. "Why I wanted to please you first."

She still felt her insides tightening, and she knew he was saying that he didn't think he was going to last long, but she had a feeling that she wasn't going to either. So she watched with anticipation as he pushed off his pants completely and positioned himself between her legs, the tip of his cock at her moist entrance.

"Here we go," he narrated with a grin, pushing into her.

She closed her eyes and threw her head back, exhaling sharply as she felt his length slide all the way into her, stretching her.

He pulled out and pushed back in, further this time, and she couldn't help the moan that escaped her lips, as he hit a spot she didn't know existed. She wrapped her legs around him, falling into the familiar thrusting pattern.

She picked up right where she left off before, her breath hitching, and her walls clamping down around his shaft, almost at orgasm because of his previous attention. Fred's thrusting became quicker, his body hunched over hers, his head hanging at her shoulder. She felt his warm breath, felt his hot hands at her sides, felt every inch of his cock ramming into her.

"Oh God," she moaned, opening her eyes and seeing his lips opened.

She scratched her way up his back and tangled her hands in his hair, grasping the strands and pulling him down for a kiss. He complied with her, his thrusts becoming frenzied, and she cried into his lips, coming undone.

His lips separated from hers, and he sat up straight, grabbing her hips and thrusting a few more times into her before he ejaculated, spilling his seed into her.

When he was done, he pulled out and laid down beside her, a smile creeping onto his face. She opened her eyes and saw his playful orbs staring at her.

She couldn't help but giggle again, as she rolled over and embraced him, wrapping one arm around his arm and one arm around his chest. He pulled her closer to him, until she was nearly lying on top of him, her head on his chest.

She kissed his chest, then blew a raspberry like he had earlier. He laughed and attempted to get in contact with her skin. She knew what he was up to and craned away from him. But he had her in his grasp, and he rolled over on top of her, blowing raspberries on every inch of skin he could get in contact with, causing her to collapse into a fit of giggles that left her gasping for breath.

Finally, he stopped and looked into her eyes, grinning madly, and placed a chaste kiss on her lips.

"Thanks for the shag."

"I should be thanking you, you oaf," she said, cuddling into him again.

"That's true. I did most of the work."

"I never knew sex could be this much fun," she said, ignoring his previous remark.

"I call it the 'Fred Weasley Experience,' for select audiences only," he said, kissing her shoulder.

"For me only from now on, okay?" she asked, peering up into his eyes.

If it was possible, his eyes lit up even further, and he nodded firmly.

"I'm not the most reliable person, but my word is still good on the important stuff. And I'd say this is pretty important," he said confidently.

"I'd say so," she agreed, with a smile on her face. "And not just because of the sex, right?"

He laughed at her but nodded seriously nonetheless. "No. The sex is just a perk. I told you I fancy you, didn't I?"

"You did," she confirmed. "By the way, who else knew about that? Anyone but George and Angelina?"

He looked at her thoughtfully. "Bill and Fleur suspected, I reckon. Dad caught onto it, too, funnily enough, but Mum hasn't got the slightest. Obviously ickle Ronnie-kins has the observational skills of a kettle, so he didn't know. Neither did Gin and Harry, I think. Gin would've caught on, I reckon, if she wasn't so busy getting knocked up. Charlie hasn't been around enough to notice. Oh, and I know this is an awful time to bring this up, but Wood knows."

"Oliver?" she asked, the blood draining from her face.

"We're mates," Fred said awkwardly. "When he ended things with you, I told him man-to-man that I was going to give things a shot with you."

"You did?" she asked, sitting up and covering herself with the blanket on his bed. She stared at him in disbelief.

"Yeah," Fred affirmed, looking away guiltily. "Didn't give me his blessing, exactly, but he said he understood."

"_He _broke up with _me_," she said angrily, narrowing her eyes at Fred. "Why would he care, anyway?"

Fred didn't say anything, didn't look at her, and it occurred to her that he knew something she didn't.

"Tell me," he demanded, fear seeping into her body.

"Tell you what?" he asked in a weird, neutral tone she'd never heard from him before.

"Whatever it is that's making you not look at me right now," she said, panicked.

He finally turned his attention to her and met her eyes. "You want to know why he cared even though he's the one that broke up with you?"

"Yes," she said, a lump forming in her throat, as she awaited the answer.

Seconds seemed like eternity until she heard Fred sigh and look away, mumbling his response.

"He still loves you. Never stopped. He only ended things, because he saw how you act around Gin's kids and Teddy, and he figured you might want kids sometime soon, whereas he doesn't know if he'll ever want them, not while he's playing Quidditch professionally. Doesn't want to be one of those absentee parents," Fred said.

Her blood ran cold, and she stared at the wall, feeling a whole new numbness she hadn't felt before.

"But we were only together a year. I wasn't thinking about kids," she said shrilly. "How could he think I'd want kids? I wasn't even thinking about marriage."

"He was," Fred said darkly.

She blanched. "What?"

"He was going to propose," Fred said so softly she thought she had mistaken what he had said.

"I'm going to be sick," she said, standing up and rushing out of the room, toward a bathroom she had seen earlier.

She slammed the door and warded it behind her, bending over a toilet and voiding the contents of Christmas lunch. She clutched her wand with a shaking hand, her knuckles turning white, as she realized the state she was in. She was naked, in the bathroom of Fred Weasley's flat, wrapped in his blanket, his cum sticky on her thighs, the traces of his lips still all over her body, a jumper his mum had knitted for her somewhere in his bedroom. Meanwhile, the great love of her life was celebrating Christmas with his parents, after having sent her the most thoughtful present she had ever received, maybe thinking about her, maybe thinking about his friend trying to get with the witch he was still in love with, but thinking it was best to let her go because he didn't think he could give her what she deserved. He was going to propose to her.

She wondered if he had a ring.

Another wave of nausea hit her, and she vomited breakfast out as well.

"Hermione?" she heard Fred call gently, rapping on the door.

Everything she'd eaten that day had already come out, but another wave of sickness hit her, and she felt her throat burn as acid came out of her lips and into the toilet. She felt disgusting. She _was _disgusting.

She flushed the toilet and laid her head on the seat of it, watching the water swirl down as she began to sob, for the second time that day. She was a horrible, _horrible _person, and _she _was the one who didn't deserve Oliver.

And then there was Fred. She wanted to be mad at him, but she couldn't. He hadn't done anything wrong either. He was friends with Oliver long before she was on good terms with either man, and his loyalties remained in the right place. He'd done the proper thing with Oliver regarding Hermione, and he had even wanted to take things slowly with her. It was _her _who said she wanted to shag him. She had thrown herself at him, wanting comfort, wanting to latch onto the crush she'd developed on him in hopes that she could turn it into something greater.

He'd been so gentle with her, so sweet, so caring. He'd cheered her up, made her feel so good. He was as pure-hearted as people came, and it sickened her that she was, in essence, now playing with his feelings, too.

"Give me some sign of life," Fred pleaded, knocking on the door again.

Hermione stood up on shaky limbs, sobs still racking her body.

"I have to go," she said, clutching her wand and preparing to disapparate.

"What? No," he cried out, and she heard him attempting to guess the ward she'd used on the door.

"Tell everyone I'm sorry," she said, shaking, still hearing him going through diagnostic spells. "Ask Gin if she could take care of Minnie for me for a bit. I know she likes cat."

"No," he pleaded, showing her another emotion she'd never seen before. She'd only seen anger, joy, and apathy from this particular Weasley before. And today, she was the one who made him display sadness. "You... you said that - just - _no_, you can't go."

Her stomach twisted, as she thought of where she wanted to go, just as Fred finally found the ward she'd used and broke through it.

"I'm sorry," she said, disapparating in a puff of smoke, hearing his final cry of "no!" and seeing his pained face.


	7. Weasleys' Weary Warnings

**Chapter 7: Weasleys' Weary Warnings**

"You know that you can't _not _go to Ginny and Harry's Christmas party, yeah?" he asked her, sitting hunched over his desk, revising lesson plans for the second term based on the students' areas of weakness on their before-holiday exams.

"I know that," she said, harvesting some plant bits for the new potions master, an amicable chap in his early thirties, who'd been in Slytherin but was most un-Slytherin in his demeanor. He wasn't slimy at all, like she was used to from Slytherins. Instead, he was knowledgeable but no nonsense, much like McGonagall.

"You know Hannah's going to get annoyed that you've been staying in my quarters," he said next, catching her off-guard.

"Oh no," she gasped. "Has she said anything? I hadn't even _thought _about how Hannah might feel with me here."

"She hasn't said anything," Neville reassured her. "She knows we're close, but she trusts us both, I'm pretty sure."

"Good," Hermione said, feeling guilty.

Neville had been in a relationship with Hannah Abbott for six months now. It was still relatively fresh, based on the fact that they only saw each other a few weekends out of the month because of Neville's post at Hogwarts and Hannah's duties at the Leaky Cauldron which had her working nights and weekends. She didn't want to stir up any trouble with them. They were a lovely couple, and if anyone deserved to be happy, it was Neville.

"I didn't say that to make you feel bad," Neville said, dropping his quill and sighing. "Well, I did, but it didn't work like I'd hoped. You popped up in my fireplace on Christmas day and haven't left since. It's nice havin' you here, Hermione, and you've been a great help, but I think it's time you faced your problems like a Gryffindor."

She pursed her lips and stopped what she was doing to look at her feet.

"Or got a job here," he said with a laugh. "But not _my _job. You could teach Defense. I don't think old Haverford is going to last until the end of the second term. There are these four Gryffindor sixth years who have nearly given him a heart infarct a dozen times. He can't really deal with them."

"Gryffindors causing trouble," Hermione said thoughtfully. "Why does that sound so familiar?"

"I think these four would give all the Weasleys and you and Harry combined a run for their money," Neville said, shaking his head, but barely repressing his smile. "They've stayed over the holidays, if you want to meet them at dinner tonight. If you'll come out of hiding to at least eat in the Great Hall."

"No," she said quickly, shaking her head firmly. "If word gets out that I've come here, then... no."

"Who are you even expecting to show up?" Neville asked, leaning back in his chair and looking at her curiously.

"Dunno," she said uncomfortably. "Ginny to tell me off?"

Neville raised his eyebrow at her. "I'm not fifteen anymore, Hermione. Let's have the truth."

She still didn't meet his eyes. "I don't know what Fred did after I left the way I did, but I feel awful, and I'm just too embarrassed to face him. And now that I know why Oliver ended things... I don't know if he would try to come find me. I don't know if Ron and Harry found him or what they would do to him, or even if Fred went over there to look for him. So maybe he would come?"

"I really don't understand why you haven't talked to Wood yet," Neville said, frowning. "If the children issue isn't an issue for you, then why haven't you told him that yet?"

"It's not as simple as that," she replied, sitting down in a chair in front of his desk. "He didn't _talk _to me about it before he made the decision to end things. Fred says he was going to propose, but I don't know if he just reckons it or if he even had a ring or what. I'm still so angry and upset, but I can't stop thinking about him. And it makes me feel awful for _sleeping _with Fred and leading him on, but to be honest, I do have some feelings for him."

"You just need to uncomplicate it," Neville said, shrugging. "You don't know if Wood's a viable option, and you _won't _know until you speak with him. After that, it might provide some clarity with Fred. I think you've done a most un-Hermione thing by running away from him when you know his feelings for you."

"I know," she said with a sigh. "You don't need to tell me I'm a horrible person. I already know it."

He looked at her funny. "No one would _ever _say or think you're a horrible person, Hermione."

"I don't know about that," she said skeptically.

"Well, I do," he said with confidence, sending her an encouraging smile. "Come to dinner tonight. The worst that's going to happen is that an owl finally finds you, and you get a letter."

"Or a howler," she said, grimacing. "Did you see the Prophet on Christmas?"

"Oh come off it," he said, waving her off, and standing up. "Let's go to dinner. I'm starving."

"Fine," she said, standing up and following him through the first floor corridor where his office was located and heading to the Great Hall.

She could see the blanket of snow outside the windows which led to the courtyard, and she smiled, as she remembered taking this familiar journey to the Great Hall with Harry and Ron every day. Except she usually came from the Grand Staircase, not from the first floor corridor.

Neville was bouncing ideas off her for making lessons which involved lecture more interesting, when they pushed open the door and entered. As usual, the Great Hall was mostly empty, as most students went home for the holidays, but there were a greater number of Gryffindors and Slytherins.

Neville noticed her eyeing the two tables and shook his head with a sigh. "Hard to shake the stereotypes, isn't it?"

"So you don't think it's suspicious that so many Gryffindors and Slytherins stayed behind over the holidays?" she asked him, aware that all eyes were on her.

"Oh, I definitely do," he said with a laugh. "But I'm going to hope for the best for my house instead of just assuming there's going to be some sort of grand duel or war."

Hermione laughed and followed Neville to the Head Table, where she sat in one of the many empty chairs available. It seemed that much of the staff was away as well.

"Miss Granger, what a surprise!" Professor McGonagall exclaimed, sending her a rare smile.

"Hello, Professor!" Hermione exclaimed with a broad grin at the Headmistress. "I hope it's not a problem that I've come here unannounced."

"My dear girl, you are _always _welcome at this school," Professor McGonagall said genially, before she turned her head back to Hagrid, who expressed the same sentiments.

"Thank you," Hermione replied, her cheeks tinged red.

"So those are the four I talked about earlier," Neville whispered to Hermione, nodding his head to four boys who were the center of attention at the Gryffindor table.

One of them had blond, wavy hair and bright white teeth, causing her to stifle giggles as she was reminded of Lockhart. The boy next to him had thick black hair and tan skin. The two boys across from them both had brown hair, although one had glasses he continuously adjusted as he laughed with his friends, and the other oozed self-confidence that was reminiscent of Sirius Black. The blond boy ignored the girl sitting on the other side of him, trying to get his attention, and smiled winningly at Hermione. The Sirius Black-lookalike-actalike winked at her.

"They're not _serious_," she said, shaking her head and looking at Neville.

"You'd think they wouldn't be, wouldn't you?" he asked rhetorically, patting Hermione on the back. "The blond one, Reynolds, and the one across him, Pipers, could give you, Ron, and Harry a run for your money in terms of breaking school rules. The other two, Gomez and Richards, just sort of get dragged into their messes."

"Like you?" she asked, trying to keep the smile from her lips.

"You got me _detention _in the Forbidden Forest and _petrified _me during first year," he exclaimed. "I'd forgotten. Why am I still friends with you?"

Hermione tossed her head back and laughed raucously, tears coming into her eyes.

"Well, when you put it like _that_," she said through fits of laughter.

Neville joined in, the sound of their combined laughter was so loud that it echoed through the rest of the Great Hall. It would've caught everyone's attention had everyone's attention not already been on her.

"What are you two laughing about?" Ewan Gregory, the new Potions master, asked as he joined them at the Head Table.

"Reminiscing," Hermione said, smiling at the man.

"I was telling Hermione how much Reynolds, Pipers, Gomez, and Richards remind me of us and some of our school friends, and she reminded me how much trouble she caused me," Neville explained, proceeding to give a run-down of all the times Harry, Ron, and Hermione had gotten Neville in trouble in their years at Hogwarts.

By the end of the story, the entire Head Table was in fits of laughter, the students looking on curiously as they were obviously not used to their professors laughing so much.

"Miss Granger, I wouldn't have thought you capable of causing so much mischief," Gregory said in his thick Irish accent.

"I wouldn't have either," Professor McGonagall piped in, grinning. "She was the ideal pupil during class, but outside of it, she stirred up quite a bit of trouble for me."

"I'm sorry, Professor," Hermione apologized. "If it makes you feel better, half of the stupid things you think we did were just cover-ups for other things. Like first year, I didn't go looking for that troll. Ron had said something cruel to me, and I wound up trapped in the bathroom."

"Why didn't you say that, dear girl? I wouldn't have taken points for that," McGonagall exclaimed.

"It's okay," Hermione said laughing. "I was the one who set Professor Snape's robes on fire first year, and no one ever took points for that. So it all sort of evened out."

"Severus was _furious_," McGonagall exclaimed.

Hermione smiled fondly in remembrance of her brave but _awful _Potions master. She never thought she would miss him, but she did.

"Owls are late tonight," Neville said absentmindedly, as the owls finally flew in, dropping packages and letters all over the place.

The smile disappeared from Hermione's face, as she waited in anticipation, wondering if owls had managed to find her yet. If owls could find her, so could visitors. Most owls knew to leave packages and letters at the balcony of her flat, but she knew that emergency and pertinent letters would be delivered to her person.

She flinched when she saw a barn owl swoop down and drop a letter in front of her. It was followed by a screech owl, a great horned owl, and then another barn owl.

"No howlers," Neville whispered with a smile.

She glared at him and opened the one on top.

"_Hermione,_

_ When you get this, could you please let me know you're safe? I haven't seen you since Christmas, and everyone's been worried sick. Ron's even talked to your parents, and they've not seen you either. Bill said he saw you leave with Fred, but when I saw Fred that night, he wouldn't tell me what happened. Did something happen with him or with Wood? Owl soon. I'm taking care of Minnie in the meanwhile, so if you need to take some time, don't worry about the New Year's Eve party or Minnie. Just let me know you're safe please._

_ Love, Ginny"_

She felt guilty but opened the next one.

_"Hermione,_

_ I know you're an adult and don't need to be taken care of, but your father and I were alarmed when we received a visit from Ronald, and he told us you disappeared on Christmas. Your father and I don't need to know what happened if you don't want to talk about it, but know that we're here in case you do. I'd just like to know that you're safe and sound, baby girl._

_ Love,_

_ Mum and Dad"_

She felt even guiltier.

_"Hermione,_

_ What the bloody hell happened to you? Ginny's had about a dozen cries since you disappeared on Christmas. Mum and Dad are worried. Your mum and dad said they hadn't seen you and haven't been able to get in touch either. I went to your flat. Looked like you had been there. Found Fred's blanket there. I know it's Fred's, because it's got an F on it, and mum gave us all monogrammed blankets for Christmas one year. And don't you dare get onto me for using the key I have, because I think it qualifies as an emergency when your best friend up and leaves without saying anything. Fred's been mum about what happened, although Bill said he saw you leave with Fred. If he did something to you, I'm going to have his balls._

_ Oh, and I had a nice chat with Wood, by the way. Thought you ought to know. I couldn't find him on Christmas, but I tracked him down the next day. It wasn't very fun to threaten to curse a wizard who wouldn't even draw his wand, but I think I sorted him out. And you can feel free to get angry about it, because I don't regret it._

_ In any case, I'll see you New Year's Eve. I expect a full explanation._

_ And don't think you can back out of Harry and Ginny's party. Just because I _haven't _found you, doesn't mean that I _can't_. If I can track down Deatheaters in hiding, I think I can track you down. And I _will _track you down if you don't come to their party._

_ Oh, and I'm angry that I've had to write a letter this long. You know how much I hate writing letters._

_ Expect to hear from you soon._

_ Or else._

_ Ron"_

She swallowed hard. She was too terrified to be angry with him. She went on to open the last letter.

_"Hermione,_

_ Kindly fix what you've done to my brother. The holidays are our busiest times, and he's rubbish behind the counter, rubbish in front of the counter, and rubbish in the back. So either fix him or compensate me monetarily._

_ Regards,_

_ George"_

Alright, now she felt like trash. She handed the letters to Neville, who skimmed over them and grimaced.

"Tough crowd," he said. "But at least you didn't get letters from Fred or Wood, so that's good, right?"

"Yeah... that's good," she said, furrowing her eyebrows and feeling oddly disappointed.

"So maybe you've just overreacted, and the only mess you have to clean up is running away," Neville whispered, patting her back again.

She opened her mouth to reply, when the doors to the Great Hall swung open. All eyes moved to the doors, as excited whispers rang through students of all four house tables alike. The man smiled graciously at young witches who squealed when they saw him, but he did his best not to engage any of them when he spotted her at the front of the room.

Hermione's eyes widened, and her mouth ran dry. She could hear and feel her heartbeat, and Neville had gone equally speechless.

He approached, wearing jeans and a fashionable black sweater that zipped asymmetrically to one side, with buttons purely for decoration on the other, robes nowhere in sight, even though she knew that he had to have walked from the front gates in the snow.

"Wood, what a surprise," McGonagall said with a warm smile. "It must be alumni night."

"Good evenin', Professor," Oliver replied with his charming Scottish drawl. "I'm sorry to interrupt dinner, but I'll be leavin' soon."

"Stay for dessert if you'd like," McGonagall offered, as pudding appeared in front of everyone in the Great Hall.

"Naw, I actually had practice today, so I'm a bit tired. We have a match on New Year's Day," he said apologetically. "But I'll come by to see a Quidditch match, I promise."

"I'm sure the students will like that," McGonagall said, looking out into the hall, which had erupted with whispers. "So what is your business here? Visiting someone?"

Quidditch superstars always outshone war heroes, Hermione thought wryly. Or would have thought, if her gaze wasn't frozen on Oliver.

"Actually, I was hopin' Hermione would have a chat with me," Oliver said, his small smile sad when he looked at her. "If ya're not busy, that is."

"No," Hermione replied, her voice hitching. "I'll see you later, Neville."

"Later, Hermione," Neville replied, cocking his head to the side in confusion. "You can use my quarters, if you'd like. I'll be going back to my office after dinner."

"Thanks, Longbottom," Oliver said, bowing his head in appreciation.

"Not a problem."

Oliver came around to the edge of the table and offered her his hand to stand. She took it and then released it awkwardly. He placed it on the small of her back, leading her out of the Great Hall, amongst the sound of fervent whispering.

"Sorry to barge in on your meal like that," he apologized, opening the door to the Great Hall for her.

"Why did you?" she asked quietly.

"I know how anxious ya must be to get to the bread and butter of conversation, but I reckon it'd be best to save it for Longbottom's quarters, if you'd lead the way," he suggested, his hand still on the small of her back.

"Should I be nervous?" she asked, turning a corner.

"I know ya pro'lly won't fancy the conversation we're about to have, but I've been searchin' for ya for a few days now, since I've been set straight by Ron Weasley," he replied. "I've come to realize that I've been a bit wrong in handlin' things with ya."

She stopped in her tracks, her face ghostly white, and she turned to face him. "What did Ron say?"

"I'll explain when we're alone," he said uncomfortably, trying his best to maintain a friendly tone with her.

She searched his eyes, then realized he'd told her to wait until they were alone twice now, which meant that they weren't alone right now. She looked behind them and saw a shadow disappear around the corner they had just walked around.

Hermione grasped her wand underneath her robes and flicked it toward the corner. Four boys came sprawling onto the floor in front of them, and Hermione sighed, rolling her eyes.

Oliver, who was kinder than she was, walked over to help them onto their feet. "Sorry, lads, but would you mind being off now? I would appreciate some privacy."

"We weren't following you," said one of the brown-haired boys, causing his friends to groan in frustration.

"No, of course not," Oliver said with a smile. "But would you mind heading off anyhow?"

She had quickly found out how much Oliver had mellowed out in all aspects of his life except for Quidditch, especially once his placement as a first string Keeper at Puddlemere United became secure. And she knew he had to have a certain amount of kindness he had to show to everyone, lest it cause a scandal for his team, but right now, she wished he wouldn't be so kind to these four annoying boys.

"We were heading this way to go to the courtyard," the black-haired boy said stubbornly.

She now realized how annoying _she _must have been at their age.

"Professor Longbottom's warned me about you four," Hermione said, stepping up next to Oliver. "I may not be your professor, but that means my options for punishment aren't limited to points and detentions."

Her wand sparked dangerously, and she expected them to scamper off, but they didn't.

"You're Hermione Granger," said the black-haired boy. "You and Harry Potter and Ron Weasley stopped Voldemort. You're as good as they come. Surely you wouldn't curse a student."

"I wouldn't count on that, lad," Oliver said with a laugh. "Hermione's temper is not to be contended with."

Hermione sighed and cut off the black-haired by as he was about to open his mouth again. "Do us the courtesy of respecting our privacy, as four current Gryffindors to two former Gryffindors. You can go back and tell your friends whatever cool thing you were hoping would happen if you followed us, and we'll back you up. Won't we, Oliver?"

"Sure," Oliver said amicably. "Just try to make it believable. No one's going to believe you took us out in a duel or beat me at Quidditch, or anything like that."

The black-haired boy opened his mouth to argue that fact, but the Spanish one cut him off, and all four walked off in the other direction, whispering to themselves, plotting.

"Kids," Hermione said, shaking her head and pulling on a torch that opened a passage to Neville's quarters.

"We weren't any less annoying," Oliver said sympathetically.

She shrugged, and they walked through the gold-and-burgundy decorated archway into a sitting room roughly half the size of the Gryffindor common room. Hermione walked to the sofa, taking off her robes and throwing them over, as she sat down. Oliver followed and sat down close to her - too close for comfort.

"You were hard to find, ya know," Oliver said gently. "When Higgs finally flew off his perch with the letter I'd given him for you, I followed him on broom. Funny how good owls are at trackin' people."

"You flew through this cold, to find me?" she asked guiltily.

"It wasn't far," he assured her. "I was at my parents'."

"Good," she sighed in relief.

If he had flown from Southern England to Scotland to find her, she'd have felt horrible. As it was, his parents only lived a few miles from here.

"So anyhow, Ron Weasley came by to see me on Boxing Day," Oliver continued, a smile still planted firmly on his lips. "Wasn't a friendly visit, as I can tell you assumed by the look of panic on your face."

"I'm sorry," she said, shaking her head. "I didn't tell him to."

"No, I reckoned ya hadn't," he agreed. "But I'm glad he did. I didn't realize how badly you'd been off since we... ended things."

She opened her mouth to tell him that _they _hadn't ended things - that _he'd _ended things without consulting her about the matter, but she closed it again and looked at the ground.

"I never meant to hurt ya, Hermione," he said sadly, his voice cracking. "I could have kicked my own arse for breakin' ya're heart. I should have realized how crazy it would drive ya not knowing why I ended things, and then ta make matters worse, I sent you a present which, as Weasley pointed out so graciously, was too nice and thoughtful for someone who'd acted so selfishly before.

"I should have told ya why I ended things, but I was too afraid to, and I thought ya'd be better off without knowing. But then, obviously I haven't thought things through, have I?"

She didn't say anything, tears pooling in his eyes.

"Don't cry, Hermione, _please_," he pleaded. "I'd rather ya cursed me or yelled at me or slapped me - anything but cryin'. I don't want to see ya cry."

His words only upset her further, and big fat tear droplets cascaded down her face as her body shook silently.

Oliver reached his hand out and hovered over hers for a moment, before he decided to rest it there. It was rough from years of gripping a broomstick but warm like she'd always remembered from when he held her.

"Please, darlin' girl, let me get through what I have to say," he pleaded. "It isn't the easiest for a man to admit he's wronged someone."

Hermione closed her eyes and willed herself to stop crying.

"I'm alright," she said, wiping away her tears with the hand that Oliver wasn't holding. "You can go on."

"Alright," he said sadly. "So I was feelin' horrible, tryin' to decide whether to write you a letter or just let you be since I'd caused enough damage as it was, when I got a visit from another Weasley - Fred this time."

Hermione looked down at her feet and bit her lip, her breath caught in her throat.

"And he told me that he'd told you what I'd never had the galls to," Oliver said, swallowing hard and pausing. "And what else happened between you."

She bit her lip harder and turned her head away even more, not wanting to see the look on his face, scared to see the emotions in his eyes.

"And then he punched me," Oliver said matter-of-factly, laughing sadly.

She was startled to hear this, so much so that she looked at Oliver. He was smiling as if he had just remembered something fond.

"What else we talked about isn't really in my best interest to share," he said, shrugging. "But basically, it all ended with me feeling like a right prat, for hurtin' the woman I love."

She couldn't believe he could still love her, after she'd slept with his friend. Granted they were broken up, and they were broken up because _he _hadn't talked to her about his concerns for the future before. But still.

"You couldn't have just owled an apology?" she asked, her voice hoarse.

Oliver's smile grew, and he shook his head.

"I thought we could rewind things a bit, if it's not too presumptuous of me to assume such a thing possible, and have the conversation we never had," he suggested.

"Which one?" she asked.

"About the future," he replied.

She couldn't have felt more confused in her life. Did this mean he wanted to get back together? Or was this simply a way to help her get closure? And they weren't going to discuss her and Fred? It was as if nothing had happened?

She stayed quiet, begging him to begin. He took the cue.

"Quidditch players don't have long careers. We retire early when our bodies begin to wear. The oldest of us are Keepers. I'm twenty-eight right now, and the oldest Keeper in the league is thirty-four. I reckon this'll be his last season," he said. "So I have another six years if I'm lucky."

"You're in fine form, from what I understand," Hermione replied, looking back down at her feet again.

"Well, thanks, darlin', but we both know ya hardly know Bludgers from Quaffles," he said with a smile.

"But Ginny plays, and she tells me you're good," Hermione defended vehemently.

Oliver smiled at her. "I _am_ good, but we're not here to talk about Quidditch."

"Good," she said, smiling a bit, although her stomach was still in knots.

"Hermione, I love you more than I ever thought possible," Oliver said suddenly, drawing her attention to his brown eyes, which sparkled with honesty. "You're the most amazin' woman I've ever met, and all of that business with Voldemort isn't even factored into that. You're kind an' intelligent, and you make me want to talk about something besides Quidditch. My friends always teased me that I'd never be able to do that, but you've forced me out of my shell, to take an interest in other things.

"You deserve the world, and I know you can have it. I know you want marriage, kids, a family, and I can't give you all of that for at least six years. Sure, we could build a house and have kids, but it wouldn't really be a home, a family - not with my schedule, not until I retire. And I don't want to make you wait that long."

Hermione shook her head. "No," she said. "That's not fair of you to decide that's what I want for me. I do want kids, but I don't want to be like Ginny, having them so young and having to put her career on the sidelines because of it. I'd _never _make you give your career up, nor do I want to give up my own. She has her priorities, but I have mine, too, and I don't want to have a child so soon either. I've just been made head of this department, but you and I both know this is only a stepping stone for me. I have so much I still want to reform in the Ministry, and I don't want to bring a child into this world until it's a better place."

Oliver looked at her searchingly, a smile slowly creeping onto his face. "So, you're saying that ya don't fancy havin' a child now?"

"No," she affirmed, shaking her head firmly. "Gods, no. My parents didn't have me until thirty-five, and I think I was better adjusted than my school mates whose parents had them in their twenties."

"I'm a wanker," Oliver said, shaking his head and smiling. "I've been so stupid."

She looked away again, frowning.

"Hermione, my love, I understand if the answer is no, but if there's any chance you'd give me another chance, I'd be the luckiest wizard in the world," Oliver said, bringing his hand to her cheek and caressing it.

She leaned into his hand, but she couldn't help but feel nauseous still, instead of happy as she should be.

"What about... what happened with Fred?" she asked quietly.

She saw Oliver's eyes darken with sadness momentarily, but he shook his head. "We weren't together, and Fred had already told me that he was going to try with you."

"Were you with anyone else?" she asked, swallowing hard.

"No," he said, shaking his head firmly. "I couldn't think of anythin' else except whether I'd made the right decision, which I obviously hadn't."

"Do you think I'm a horrible person?" she asked.

"No," he said, tilting her head up to look at him. "You were hurt. You owed me nothin'. You've always been close with the Weasleys. And Fred's a good bloke."

"He is," she affirmed, brushing away his hand and staring at her feet as she was reminded of the man with the teasing lips and laughing hazel eyes.

"Don't think about him," he pleaded, scooting closer to her, running the hand that had been on hers upward, brushing her hair behind her shoulder. He put both his arms around her and kissed her neck. "Think about me."

His lips burned, and a soft moan escaped her mouth. Her entire body was on fire, as Oliver's mouth moved up her neck, to her jaw, and finally hovered over her lips. She let him take her lips in a passionate, searching kiss. Her arms wrapped around his back reflexively, and he pushed her back onto the cushions, his weight settling on top of her.

"I've missed you," he whispered, one hand moving underneath her sweater and cupping her breasts, his other hand undoing the zipper to her jeans.

Hermione's mind was blank, and she was thankful that he didn't give her a chance to respond, his mouth busying hers.

After he undid her zipper, he stood up just long enough to pull her jeans off, before he climbed back on top of her. He undid his zipper and pulled out his manhood, parting her legs and thrusting into her wet folds.

Hermione gasped, throwing her head back, as Oliver began his assault on her womanhood. She felt the fabric of his jeans scraping against her thighs, his fingers pinching her nipples underneath her bra and jumper, his mouth biting and sucking on her neck as he fucked her into the couch.

Hermione closed her eyes, trying to wrap her mind around what was happening. She was being fucked by the man she loved, and he was doing it rather well, his familiarity with her body still there, as he brought her close to orgasm.

Still, even as they both came, she still felt oddly empty without glimmering hazel eyes and a mischievous grin staring down at her after.

* * *

_Author's Note:_ You guys all hate me now, don't you?


	8. Weasley's Warm Welcome

_Author's Note:_I've gotten the most feedback I've gotten in the shortest amount of time for the last chapter, and it was so pleasant to see that I wanted to give you guys the next chapter! So here it is! And the reason you guys hate me so much was summed up beautifully by _LilyLewisFlame_. You want to hate Oliver, but you can't. I got you guys, didn't I? Haha. Well, I hope you guys enjoy Fred's return this chapter!

* * *

**Chapter 8: Weasley's Warm Welcome**

"Drink?" Neville asked, offering her a glass of champagne.

"No, thanks," she replied, shaking her head. "Trying to limit my drinking tonight."

"Why?" he asked her, downing an entire glass of his own. "It's New Year's Eve. If ever there's an excuse to get knackered, it's this."

Hermione grinned and took the proffered glass and sipping it lightly. "Oliver has a match tomorrow, so he's not drinking at all, and I'm trying to maintain some solidarity."

"Don't mind me, darlin'," the man in question said, slipping his arm around her waist and pulling her close to him, kissing the side of her head. "Have as much as you'd like."

She beamed up at him, and he leaned down to kiss her lips, smiling as he pulled her into a dance.

They were at Harry and Ginny's New Year's Eve party, along with far too many other people. There were an abundance of Quidditch players, Ministry officials, old Hogwarts classmates (including Malfoy, of all people), and just about every other wizard and witch in the UK, it seemed. Except for Molly and Arthur Weasley, who'd had all their grandchildren shipped off to them for a night of wholesome festivities while their parents drank into the night.

Hermione's dress robes were a bit uncomfortable, but Ginny had insisted she wear these when she saw them on Hermione in the dress shop. Something about the cut and color being flattering. Honestly, Hermione had agreed just to get the younger woman to shut up. But now that she was in them for an extended period, the lace detailing itched, and the satin or silk or whatever this fabric was, made her very aware of her own body, how noticeable it'd be if she were to sweat or get erect nipples from the cold, or even that her bum was outlined.

Still, she'd had everyone she'd talk to tonight compliment them. Men were let off easy, as Ginny had told them slacks would do instead of dress robes. She envied Oliver in his slacks, button-up and coat. He didn't even have to wear a bloody tie, and she was dying only two hours into the evening.

She wondered if anyone would notice if she were to transfigure her dress robes into jeans and a T-shirt right about now. Most were already a bit 'happy' at the moment, except for Oliver and the pregnant women.

The thought disappeared from her mind, as she saw Malfoy singing karaoke at the front of the room. She _never _thought she would have seen that. But then again, the fact that his bowtie was undone and his shirt was untucked should have been a signal to her that he wasn't in his normal state at the present. And she hated to admit it, but the snake bastard had sort of a pleasant voice.

"Ya really do look beautiful tonight," Oliver commented, swinging her around the dancefloor.

"So you've said about a dozen times now," Hermione teased, blushing nonetheless.

"Don't really feel I've expressed it adequately yet," he replied with a grin. "But I can't think of another word. Help a poor wizard out with a vocabulary lesson?"

She threw her head back and laughed as he spun her around. "Doesn't really mean as much if I feed you the words to use."

"That's true, I suppose," he agreed. "But know that I'll keep tellin' ya ya're beautiful then, for lack of better words."

She smiled to herself and put her head on his chest, slowing their dance a bit as she melted into him. He wrapped his arms around her and bent his head down to place a kiss just below her earlobe. Goosebumps prickled from where he'd kissed all the way down her body. He didn't stop there, though. He kept kissing and sucking.

"Oliver," she chastised, a deceitful smile on her lips. "Not here."

"Why not?" he asked, pulling away and staring into her eyes with adoration. "I have lost time I need ta make up for, and besides, no one's going to be focusin' on us, not when Ron Weasley is in the front of the room tryin' to steal Malfoy's wand from him so he can sing."

She lifted her head up and saw that, indeed, Ron was trying to get Malfoy's wand from him, but Malfoy, who was taller, was holding it high above their heads and continued singing into it.

"Oh dear," she said, giggling. "I think Ron's forgotten he has a wand of his own."

"If his sister hasn't taken it away from him," Oliver hypothesized, his eyes twinkling joyously.

He tilted Hermione's chin up and pecked her lips, before he moved again to her neck, pulling her body flush against him. Hermione shivered again but pushed him back and shook her head.

"Not here," she repeated apologetically.

"Okay," he acquiesced jovially.

"And yet he's still smiling, ladies and gentlemen," she teased.

"I have the most stunning, radiant witch in my arms right now. I'll do what she says and be happy about it," Oliver said, winking at her.

"Hey! You came up with two more words," she mocked, and they both laughed.

Oliver spun her around again, and that's when she saw the person who made the blood drain from her face. Whether or not he was looking at her, she couldn't tell, as Oliver had spun her back around to her initial position again. Still, there was no mistaking that he'd walked in with his twin brother and sister-in-law, probably late arriving because of their extended holiday hours at the shop.

"Are you alright, darlin'?" Oliver asked her, concern on his face.

"Fine," she lied.

"If ya say so," he replied, still relaxed as ever.

"Did you see Fred and George?" she asked.

"Came in a few minutes ago," Oliver said, nodding. "Sometime before Malfoy's first encore."

"D'you reckon that I should say something? To Fred, I mean, about what happened?" she asked uncomfortably.

Oliver looked just as uncomfortable, for the first time since their conversation two days ago. "If ya want, but there really isn't a need. When he talked to me, I told him I was goin' to be tryin' to get you back, if it was true that you didn't mind about the family bit. We squared things away."

"_You _may have, but _we _didn't," she said, still remembering the pathetic look on Fred's face as she apparated out of his flat. "Did you know that he fancies me?"

"Yes," Oliver replied with a sigh, dropping his smile for the first time all night. "He has for a long time. He told me after the New Year's match last year."

"That long ago? Why didn't you tell me?" she questioned with a frown. "I wouldn't have been so careless. Would have thought more carefully about casual hugs and spending so much time with him. I've only made things worse for him."

"It wasn't in my place to tell, Hermione," Oliver said seriously. "Nor would I have, even if it was. Blokes don't make a habit of telling their girlfriends that other men are interested in them, especially if their girlfriends get on as well as you get on with Fred Weasley. I may be kind, but don't confuse that kindness with stupidity."

She didn't know what to say. Couldn't say anything, really. She wasn't about to make light of Oliver and Fred's friendship, nor could she fault Oliver for his caution. After all, she _had _slept with Fred when she had become aware of his feelings. And she didn't doubt he'd seen the photo of them in the Prophet. Not to mention all the other times he'd seen them together.

"I still think I should go talk to him," she said, turning around and flushing when she made eye contact with him.

So he _was _looking at her.

"Don't go," Oliver pleaded in an uncharacteristically serious way, which reminded her chillingly of Fred's words to her. "Let's just enjoy tonight, okay?" he asked, trying to make light of his serious plea.

"Sure," she agreed hesitantly.

Oliver pulled her toward him and held her tightly, as they danced in circles.

"You can go home, you know? If you're tired, that is," she said softly.

"And be the man that leaves a New Year's Eve party before it's even midnight?" he asked with a laugh.

"I'll go with you, if you want," she offered. "You're having breakfast with my dad tomorrow, aren't you? Before the match?"

"I didn't forget," he promised. "I love your dad. I remember when I took him for a ride on my broomstick and he wee'd himself. Was hilarious."

"Hey!" she said, trying to conceal her laughter as she slapped his arm. "You didn't tell me that. And don't frighten my dad!"

"Wasn't trying to!" he defended, taking the hand she'd smacked him with and kissing it. "I only took him up maybe ten, fifteen feet. It was _his _idea."

"That father of mine," she muttered darkly.

"He likes me, doesn't he?" Oliver asked smugly.

"He _adores _you," she replied. "I never did break it to him that you and I were broken up, so you aren't allowed to mention it."

"Really?" he asked in surprise. "You and your parents are so close."

"I know," she murmured quietly. "But I was waiting until I had to, until I wrapped my own mind around it."

"Well, I'm glad you didn't," he replied, kissing the top of her head again.

She smiled and closed her eyes against his chest.

"You know, you really can go on home. I don't think I'll stay long past midnight either," she said, trying to be considerate of the fact that he _would _be playing a match in fourteen hours and had practices all week, despite the holidays.

"Will you come to my flat after?" he asked, finally conceding.

"Why?" she asked, furrowing her brow. "You're to sleep, not to wait up for me, you silly Scot."

"I'm planning on going to sleep, but I wouldn't mind waking up next to you," he said in a small voice. "I've missed that."

She melted a bit more and smiled at him brightly. "I'll just sneak in after then."

"You're the best," he said, kissing her again.

"You're so affectionate tonight," she commented, as she led him out of the room and toward where the cloaks were being kept.

"Time to make up for," he repeated. "Tell everyone goodbye for me?"

"You mean who's left that isn't drunk yet?" she countered.

"Yes," he replied, giving her a hug as he walked over to the fireplace. "I love you. I'll see you tomorrow."

"See you tomorrow," she repeated.

And he disappeared in bright green flames.

She didn't know what she expected when she turned around, but she wasn't expecting nothing at all. No one had followed her. But as she shook herself, she didn't know who she'd expected. Fred hadn't so much as sent her a letter since Christmas. And she'd explained everything to Ron and Ginny and made up feasible excuses for everyone else.

She'd even told her mum that Oliver had a family emergency and that's why she'd disappeared.

With a sigh, she walked back into the dining room, which had been turned into a giant ballroom via Ginny's incredible charmwork and the Patil sisters' party-planning skills.

She saw that Ron had given up trying to take Malfoy's wand and had indeed remembered that he possessed a wand as well, and they were now singing duets which weren't meant for two heterosexual males to be singing together.

Even though she'd told Oliver she wouldn't, she immediately scanned the room for Fred. She saw George and Angelina sitting off to the side with Lee Jordan and Katie Bell, laughing and enjoying their nights. Fred wasn't with them anymore. She continued scanning the room, until she found him speaking with Harry.

Gritting her teeth, she walked over to the pair. Harry, who was red in the cheeks, gave her an exaggerated welcome, yelling her name when he saw her approaching, and hugging her.

"Hello, Harry," she said, taking the glass of champagne he handed her. "Everyone's trying to get me drunk tonight."

"Well, it _is _the night for drinking," Harry slurred. "Ginny says I can drink, even though she can't. She's the best wife _ever_."

"I've no doubt about that," Hermione replied with a giggle.

"Evening, Hermione," Fred greeted cheerfully, politely kissing her on the cheek.

His lips were soft, and it made her flush a bit, as she remembered where else they had been. She tried to push the thought into the back of her mind so she could focus on more pressing matters - like why he was so cheerful.

"Good evening, Fred," she replied unsurely.

"Oliver leave?" Harry asked, looking around.

"It's the QC Cup final tomorrow," Fred answered for her. "I'm betting Hermione sent him off to get some rest."

"You caught me," she nodded with a smile. "If Puddlemere loses it, I'll be on the receiving end of justifications for it for a week, so I want to eliminate him saying it was because of lack of sleep."

Harry laughed a little louder than he normally would have, and he just sort of wandered off without saying anything.

"He's drunk," Fred said at her confused gaze. "_Very _drunk."

"I see," she said with a laugh.

"You fancy a dance?" he asked her lightly.

Before she could reply, he had led her onto the dancefloor as the music slowed for another of Ron and Malfoy's classic love duets. Fred took her left hand in his right and put his right at an appropriate height on her waist, smiling at her. She was surprised at how normal this seemed, like nothing had happened. She didn't know if they weren't going to talk about it and pretend what happened never had, or if he didn't think this was the appropriate time or place.

She never knew with the Weasley twins. They let some things roll off their shoulders without a second thought and remembered some things for later. Fred was also a bit more vindictive and vengeful than George was, but she didn't think he would be about this. Still, George had made it seem like Fred was lying in a ditch somewhere crying his eyes out or drinking himself into a stupor, and he seemed fine to her.

Maybe she'd overestimated how much of an effect she had on him. It really _was _quite cocky of her to think she could bring down the unstoppable, invincible Fred Weasley, just because they shared a night of intimacy. And maybe his feelings for her were as light-hearted as everything else in his life. Or maybe he was lonely around the holidays, while everyone else was paired up.

Whatever it was, she was happy that he seemed okay.

"I bet you've gotten a lot of compliments on your dress robes," Fred said with a teasing smile on his face.

She groaned. "I had to suffer through about an hour of inane babble from Malfoy's date as she talked to me about fashion. Apparently, these were crafted by some bloke named Jean-Marc something-or-another, and she's a _huge _fan of his work and owns his entire spring collection, even though it isn't available for purchase yet."

"Sounds like you've made a new friend," he said, not bothering to conceal his mirth.

"Yeah," Hermione replied sarcastically. "I'll be sure to take her up on that offer to go on a holiday to Milan with her and spend a week going to fashion shows and spending money she seems to think I have, reserved purely for clothing I'll never wear, since I spend forty-five percent of my time in work robes and forty-five in jeans."

"There's always that other ten percent," he said, grinning at her.

"Nine more percent is reserved for shorts and a baggy T-shirt to sleep in," she rectified.

"There's always that other percent," he teased again.

She rolled her eyes but couldn't help her smile. "So you're not going to compliment me on these lovely dress robes by Francois Jean-Pierre something-or-another?"

"Nope," he replied, twirling her around so suddenly that she almost fell, but he caught her, and she collapsed in a fit of giggles. "You look bloody uncomfortable. I've watched you scratching yourself like mad for nearly an hour now."

"These things _are _awful," she agreed, glad that someone else seemed to care about her comfort.

He stopped dance for a moment and let go of her, to dig into the pocket of his trousers. He came back up with the tiny wardrobe he'd shown her earlier.

"You just carry that thing with you wherever you go, don't you?" she teased.

"It's attached to my keys," he said with a smile. "It comes in handy."

"I need to get one when they come out," she replied, taking it from him.

"I'll get you one, once we start production," he said with a smile. "You and Harry don't pay in our store."

"But Ron does," she said absent-mindedly, remembering how indignant he'd been when he'd learned that.

"Why the hell wouldn't he?" Fred retorted.

She laughed and played with the handles of the wardrobe. "You know I can't exactly change. Ginny would have my head. I'm only curious to see what it is I want to be wearing right now."

She opened it up, and she smiled when she looked inside. She turned it around and showed it to him. Inside, there was the pair of pajama pants she'd been wearing on Christmas day, along with the Weasley sweater she'd gotten last year, one that had actually been meant for her and had a cat on it.

"You're the only person I know who would actually wear a Weasley jumper on a day that isn't Christmas," Fred said, taking the wardrobe from her hands and snapping it shut, attaching it back onto his keys.

"Your mum makes comfortable jumpers," she replied, shrugging. "Besides, I've seen you wear them."

"True enough," he said nodding. "You're the only person besides me who would wear them on a day that isn't Christmas."

"Maybe we're the smart ones," she mused, prepared this time when he twirled her.

"Don't let Percy hear you say that," Fred warned. "He'll open an official inquiry about your slanderous words."

She giggled madly, as Percy Weasley walked by stiffly, a wet stain on front of the dress robes he wore anyway, because he _liked _wearing dress robes. Clearly, someone had spilled something on him, and he wasn't too happy about it.

"You look handsome tonight," she commented quietly. "And I can say that, because you _don't _look uncomfortable."

The word 'handsome' was an understatement for him. He was wearing a dark grey suit with a light purple, striped shirt on underneath his vest. It was tailored perfectly to his long, lean frame, and he'd have looked like a wealthy Muggle tycoon were it not for the fact that he was missing a tie, and the top of his shirt was unbuttoned one button too many to be professional.

"And all the teasing and the rubbish about some designer aside, you are the most radiant witch in the room, by far. And it's _nothing _to do with the dress. Because you'd look just as flawless with your hair down and lacking a liter of products and wearing a jumper and pajama pants. In fact, I think you'd actually look better, more like the witch who captures everyone's attention with her inner beauty as well as her outer one."

Hermione's cheeks burned brighter than Ron's ear, but she couldn't look away from Fred's sincere gaze, no matter how much her body wanted her to flee from embarrassment. To her luck, a fast song came on, and the serious tone of what he'd said was forgotten, as he began dancing rather... err... _vibrantly_ and immediately drew a crowd. She let herself be swept up in his exuberance and temporarily forgot about her uncomfortable dress as her entire body heated up from her crazy movements.

As the evening continued on, more people seemed to get less coherent, and before she knew it midnight struck. Surrounded by kissing couples, she felt a bit awkward, but Fred strolled over to her rescue, opening his arms to give her a New Year's hug. To her horror, she was beaten by a sloppy, and now half-naked Draco Malfoy, who planted a sloppy, wet kiss on her lips before he opened his eyes in horror and realized it was her and not his date.

He laughed raucously and half-assed an apology, reaching over to the next available witch and kissing her. It seemed that he was going to kiss his way through the room until he hit the right woman.

"Happy New Year, Hermione," Fred said, hardly containing his laughter from what he'd witnessed.

Hermione wiped at her mouth and gaped at him, unsure of what the hell had just happened.

"Now, let's go," he said, pulling her out of the crowd and handing her the wardrobe.

"Where?" she asked breathlessly, still in shock.

"Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes," he replied with a smile. "I want to show you what I'm working on."

She wanted to say that she didn't think that was such a good idea, but that would mean acknowledging what they had both managed to dance around for the entire evening. Besides, she was excited to see some of his magical innovation come to play. She'd had fun playing with the Warrior Gobs the last time she was there. So long as his invention wasn't another way to help students get out of class or cheat on their exams, she'd be happy to see it. Still, though, she hesitated, and he noticed.

"You can change out of that ruddy dress," he said in a buttery voice, shoving the wardrobe at her again.

"Alright, you've convinced me," she said, letting him drag her out of the room and outside as she instantly changed clothing.

With a pop, they were inside Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes in Diagon Alley again. She heard the roar of the crowd outside, celebrating the new year, but she stayed away from the windows and followed Fred upstairs, to the first of the labs.

He walked back over to the work table, taking off his jacket and rolling up his sleeves in the process. She tried not to stare at his muscular forearms as he did this. Luckily, this time he hadn't seemed to notice her gaze, as his eyes danced with glee. He took out his wand and flicked it toward the wall where the caged marbles had been, and to her surprise, it opened up like the bricks leading to Diagon Alley.

Her eyes widened in surprise as it revealed a whole other room with dozens of cages and boxes and products laying around.

"What?" he asked with a smile. "You think we'd leave our valuable inventions out in the open for some snot-nosed brat to sneak up and see?"

"No, I suppose not," she said, surprised, following him through the archway.

She peered into a cage full of Pygmy Puffs. She poked her finger into one, knowing from her time with Arnold, Ginny's Pygmy Puff, that they weren't dangerous. A green one waddled over to her and sneezed, catching her off-guard when it blew gold streamers and confetti out of its squished nose.

"Planning ahead for Saint Patrick's Day," he explained. "Promise we're not hurting the little buggers."

She nodded in wonderment and stood up straight again, looking at Fred, who was holding out a long, blue quill. She took it from him and examined it.

"What is it?" she asked. "Not another cheating quill, is it?"

"Nope," he replied with a laugh. "You asked for Christmas that we make it more ethical, so here it is."

"How's this different?" she asked, as he took out a parchment and a bit of ink.

He offered her a seat at the work table, and she took it, inking her quill and staring at him expectantly.

"Pretend I'm a professor at Hogwarts, lecturing about something boring, and take notes. During the Goblin Rebellion of 1612, the Three Broomsticks Inn at Hogsmeade Village in Scotland was used as both a hide-out and headquarters of the goblin revolutionaries, where their location was kept secret by a witch named Matilda Bagleap, who was sympathetic, allegedly, due to a love affair with a goblin leader."

She took notes as she would have during Hogwarts, even though she already knew this information. After she finished, she looked up at him with her brows raised, surprised that _he _knew the information.

"What?" he asked. "Contrary to popular belief, I _did _attend classes from time-to-time."

Yes, she knew that, but to retain such precise details in a class in which mostly everyone slept through was something completely different. Maybe he'd been modest when he said he hadn't been good in an academic setting. It seemed that he was a lot more of a bookworm than he let on. Still, she didn't want to put him on the spot, so she shrugged it off.

"So now what?" she asked.

"Hang on," he replied, and he took another piece of parchment out from a drawer. He used a regular quill and wrote something out, then handed it over to her.

On the parchment, there was a question which read, "Which of the Goblin Rebellions took place in Hogsmeade, where was it headquartered, and what was the name of the witch who supported the goblins in their endeavors?"

"Try to answer the questions, but do so incorrectly," he urged.

Hermione thought for a moment, then tried to write an incorrect response. She had written out "Goblin Rebellion of 16," but when she tried to write the number eight, the quill wouldn't budge. She tried again, but it wouldn't.

"Now let go of the quill," Fred said.

She did, and it wrote out the next number correctly.

Her eyes widened in amazement. "So this quill won't write incorrect information?"

"Not quite," Fred said with a grin. "We could have done that, but that's still unethical, isn't it? This quill _learns _as the owner takes notes on something. And then it won't let you write something that's contradictory to what you noted. That way, the person is forced to take notes and learn the information in order to teach it to the quill. It's a homework helper."

"That's incredible," she said, in awe. "Not just for students either. Think about busy Ministry officials who don't remember names or details and then get them wrong in memos or reports."

"I guess we could market it there based on demand, but right now our primary audience is students," he said, beaming at her. "And in exchange for not banning the quills at Hogwarts, we're going to teach professors how to charm tests to alter the functionality of the quills. That way, students will be alerted when their answer is incorrect, but it won't correct it for them. They can learn and be corrected while doing homework, but they can't cheat during examinations."

"That's brilliant," she exclaimed, her jaw dropping. "Professors wouldn't even have to grade assignments anymore. Everyone who tried and paid attention during class would do assignments correctly."

He smiled wryly at her. "It'll be fantastic for people like you who take notes diligently, but I'm afraid it won't do much good for people like Ron. I mean, sure students are going to eat them up, but I doubt it'll change the lack of notes most students take."

"But it might encourage them to, if it guarantees a better grade," she said. "This is incredible, Fred."

"Thank you," he said, grinning. "I'd let you have that one, but it's the only working prototype we have at the moment."

She gave it back to him, still in shock at how he could create something so brilliant. He was something else, and she wanted to tell him so, but instead, she gaped at him like a fish.

"What you've done is so revolutionary. I can't even begin to understand how you could practically do something like this. I'm just... I'm _floored. _Every time I forget how innovative you are, another of your products pops up that reminds me," she gushed. "This is the single most amazing thing I've ever seen. _You're _amazing. Just... _wow_."

The tips of Fred's ears had turned red, and he looked away, for once the one who was embarrassed.

"Bugger it all," he said. "You can have that one. I can make another."

"Are you daft?" she asked, laughing. "No, I'm not taking this. But I do want one when you finalize them."

"Alright," he said, meeting her eyes again and grinning. "But you can't call me daft after you've called me innovative and _revolutionary_."

She rolled her eyes and sighed over-dramatically. "Fine then. But really, you're like a little boy sometimes."

"It's part of the Weasley charm. We're all twelve years old at heart," he replied with a boyish grin.

"I think it's just you," she said with a laugh. "And Ron sometimes. And yeah, Charlie. Alright, I suppose all of you except Percy."

He continued grinning wolfishly, as he put the quill back in the box it came from and pulled out another box. "Speaking of games - do you want to play a round of this game for the, let's just call them, _nerdier _witches and wizards."

"Are you saying I'm nerdy?" she asked indignantly.

"Yes," he replied, taking out a large board and gameplay pieces. "I think it's sort of fun, too. We got the idea from Collin and Michael."

She racked her brain, trying to remember why those names sounded familiar, when it clicked for her. "The poor Muggle boys you scared half to death?"

"The same," he confirmed, grinning. "They were playing this Muggle game called 'Dungeons & Dragons' with their mates, and we had them tell us all about it. We've made it more interactive. As people tell the story, the little pieces of clay form into characters or dragons or what have you. So it makes it more interactive. Sort of like our chess."

"My dad used to play D&D with his friends on Saturday nights, growing up," she admitted, smiling.

"Well, your dad does seem the type," he said laughing.

She couldn't deny it, so she let him set up the pieces and hand out character sheets. She paused as another thought flittered through her mind.

"You wouldn't happened to have tried this out with Collin and Michael, would you have?" she asked, narrowing her eyes at him. "Because I would imagine that clay pieces that came to life might scare them a bit."

Fred grinned roguishly and shook his head. "No, George and I would _never _do that. That'd be _illegal_."

Somehow, she didn't believe him. Still, she smiled as they played the game.

She enjoyed her time with Fred, laughing at the outlandish story he made up for his character and thoroughly impressed at the charm and transfiguration work that went into the clay pieces, which came to life on the special board, complete with dragons that breathed fire and even Gilderoy Lockhart, who had somehow managed to work his way into the story to tell tales of how _he _was the one who fought that dragon.

She wasn't surprised at how elaborate and hilarious Fred's story was, considering his personality and intellect, so she let herself get swept into it, playing until the room became lighter and lighter.

"Someone in?" she asked, looking toward the open archyway, which now was lit brightly.

"Don't think so. We're not open until noon today," he said, stifling a yawn.

She looked at the clock on the wall, and her eyes widened when she saw that it was nearly seven in the morning. They'd been here for almost seven hours, chatting and playing. Oliver would be waking up any minute, and she promised him she'd stay the night at his flat.

"Oh Merlin," he said, following her gaze. "I didn't realize we'd been here this long."

"I hadn't either," she replied, standing up with wide eyes. "I have to go though."

"Let me apparate you to your flat," he offered. "Only George and I can apparate inside the store."

"I... actually..." she stuttered, looking down at the ground.

"Oliver's?" he asked cheerfully, and if she wasn't imagining it, it was a forced sort of cheerfulness.

"Yes," she replied uncomfortably.

"Not a problem," he replied, and he took her hand.

With a pop, they were standing in front of the door of Oliver's flat, which was all bright blue shutters and cheery yellow doors.

"I'm sorry for keeping you awake," he said, apologetically. "D'you want me to bring you some pepper-up potion for the match?"

"You're coming?" she asked, in surprise.

"Of _course _I'm coming," he replied. "I always go."

"Oh, that's right," she said, remembering that he _had _been there with George last year, in a VIP box. "Sure, I'll take one then, so that I don't pass out cold."

"See you in a few hours then," he said, giving her a peck on the cheek and grinning, before he was off.

Hermione unwarded Oliver's door, since she didn't have the key on her person, but she knew the wards and passwords on it. She snuck in quietly and walked through the familiar layout until she saw his open bedroom door. He was shirtless and reaching for the other side of the bed, his mouth slightly open. She smiled as she padded over to the bed and slipped in it.

It seemed that the motion had woken him, and he opened his eyes sleepily.

"Hey, you," he said, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her back to his bare chest. "Coming in late."

"Yeah, sorry," she whispered, as he kissed her back. "Now go back to sleep. You still have a bit."

"Okay," he agreed. "I'm just glad you're here."

Her stomach knotted as she felt his breathing slow. She was indeed, there, exactly where she would have killed to be a month ago, where she was so happy to have been for the past year, but now something was different. And she had a feeling she knew what, even if she wouldn't admit it.

She just hoped things would settle back down after a bit.


	9. Weasleys' Woeful Warehouse

**Chapter 9: Weasleys' Woeful Warehouse**

She was swamped at work, exhausted, and frustrated. Lately there had been a boom in the magical pets market. Once upon a time, a wizard or witch's best friend was his/her owl, toad, or rat. Then, there had come the breeding of half-Kneazles, which were smart and reliable companions. Then, there had come the selective breeding and spellwork on Puffskeins to breed Pygmy Puffs, which were available in all different colors and temperance. Now, witches and wizards were using half-cocked spells, charms, and potions to experiment on other magical creatures, some of which were wildly dangerous, in order to artificially manufacture the next fad pet.

It was disgusting, and it was taking all of her time and resources to crack down on these illicit schemes and cure the poor afflicted creatures and do damage control. The only bit of pleasure she got was when a wizard, who she had no idea how, managed to catch a sphinx, and was attempting to make it pocket size. The sphinx had nearly killed him for failing its riddles, and Hermione had to say that she hadn't been too sympathetic with him.

She was in the process of drafting legislature which controlled spellwork on magical creatures and breeding for profit, but it was taking some time to get done, and she was continually being slowed down by incompetent people who didn't even have business owning a damn wand, let alone an animal.

In her roughly four months since being appointed head of her department, she had accomplished nothing except bringing a particularly heinous breeder in front of the Wizengamot, doing more paperwork than she had done in all her time at Hogwarts combined, and allowing pets at the office.

If she had to be honest, the last one was the only accomplishment that brought any joy into her soul-sucking line of work. Minnie slept lazily on top of the bookshelf in her office, opening one eye to look at Hermione every time she groaned in frustration.

"I feel like a paper pusher," Hermione said to the cat.

She meowed in sympathy.

Hermione sighed and looked at the clock. It was nearly time for lunch, and she felt like today would be a good day to take a long lunch. She looked at Minnie.

"Do you want to come with me or stay here?" she asked.

Minnie purred and stretched out on top of the bookcase as her answer.

"Alright then," Hermione replied. "I'll be a bit longer today than usual."

Minnie didn't even reply to that, so Hermione stood up and walked through her office door.

"Michael, I'm taking a long lunch, and then I've got meetings for the rest of the day," she said to her assistant, a fresh graduate from Hogwarts, a sharp Ravenclaw boy she remembered seeing sorted vaguely. "If you want, you can take the rest of the day off, or you can skim through the draft of the bill in my office. I wouldn't mind some fresh eyes."

"I'll leave notes for you," he said respectfully, although she saw a small smile on his face.

He actually had a passion for animal rights, and she was going to try to get him into a more meaningful position at his one year mark at the department, which was coming up in two months' time.

"Thank you," she said, smiling brilliantly at him, before walking out, robes fluttering behind her.

She strolled through the department, being greeted by her subordinates, before she stepped out into the bustling sixth floor of the Ministry. A few more wizards and witches greeted her in a friendly way as she headed to the floo entrances on the first floor. Once she got there, she took a handful of floo powder, tossed it into the fireplace, stepped in, and yelled, "Leaky Cauldron!"

She closed her eyes and tucked in her elbows, waiting until she was at the right destination to step out. She was immediately greeted absently by Hannah Abbott, until the woman saw it was Hermione, and gave her a much more personal greeting.

"Hermione, how are you?" the blonde woman asked, giving her a hug.

"I'm doing wonderful, Hannah. How's business?" she asked, sitting down at the bar, which was still mostly empty.

"Can't complain," she replied with a smile. "Going to be busy tonight. We're showing World Cup Qualifiers - England against Belgium."

"What better place to watch than a bar, right?" she asked with a smile, as Hannah handed her a glass of water. "How's Neville? I haven't seen him in a while. He's been missing game night!"

"He's been swamped," Hannah replied with a frown. "That guy they found to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts up and quit last month. Said he couldn't take anymore, apparently, and the staff and students are concerned, what with fifth years and seventh years having examinations coming up in less than two months. McGonagall's actually started teaching the fifth, sixth, and seventh years, but Neville's been teaching the rest."

"Oh my," she said with a frown. "That sounds awful - teaching two subjects at once. He must be so stressed."

"He is," she confirmed with a frown. "But they can't find a teacher. You know how it is with that post - bad news."

"Poor Neville," Hermione said. "I wonder if there's something that can be done. Has Professor McGonagall tried reaching out to the Ministry? Maybe Harry could spare an Auror to teach temporarily?"

"Already tried that," said a voice behind her.

She turned to see Neville dusting himself off. He gave Hannah a quick peck on the lips, before he took a seat next to Hermione.

"Hey Neville," she said with a smile.

"Hello," he replied, looking tired. "Anyway, apparently, since Harry, Ron, and I became Aurors six years ago, only two people have passed the exam. They're short-handed enough as is, especially since I left to teach. There are still Deatheaters hiding out there, not to mention all the other criminals that are running loose."

"If you weren't so good with plants, you'd be the perfect person to teach Defense," Hermione mused. "I bet it'd be easier to find someone suited for Herbology than Defense, even if they wouldn't be as good as you."

"That's what McGonagall keeps saying," Neville said with a frown. "She wants me to take over the post next year, but I'm not crazy. I know Defense teachers don't last, and besides that, there's a reason I stopped being an Auror. I don't like violence."

"You're too sweet," Hannah said in a sugary way, causing Neville's ears to tinge with red.

"You're better than the rest of us, Neville Longbottom," Hermione agreed, patting Neville on the back, causing him to turn a bit more red.

"So what are you doing here, anyway?" Hannah asked, polishing a glass. "I usually don't see you on weekdays."

"Ahh, I'm meeting someone," she said, looking away.

"Who?" Neville asked curiously.

She was spared having to answer as the door swung open and in walked Fred Weasley, wearing dark gray slacks, a forest green striped shirt, and a vest to match his slacks. His sleeves were rolled up on his forearms, and his short red hair was sticking up and to the side. He looked devilishly handsome in his business attire, and he flashed a bright smile when he saw her.

"Ah," Neville replied almost inaudibly.

"Why don't you join us for lunch?" Hannah asked obliviously, yelling to someone in the back that she was taking her lunch.

"Hello, Fred," Neville greeted, shaking Fred's hand.

"Hello, Neville," Fred replied. "You've finally escaped Hogwarts?"

"No," he replied with a sigh. "Just seeing Hannah during a free period."

Fred gave Hermione a brief hug and kissed her cheek in greeting, as they all walked over to a booth in the back.

"We were just discussing Neville and McGonagall taking over Defense classes, because the old professor quit," Hermione explained, catching him up once they'd placed their orders with a waitress.

"So close to exams?" Fred asked. "I know irresponsible, and _that's _irresponsible."

"You don't have to tell me," Neville moaned, and Hannah shot him a sympathetic look, rubbing his back gently. "I have enough on my plate with my own classes, and teaching eight more sets a week isn't the ideal situation, especially as I haven't the lesson plans for it. I'm trying to read the assigned reading along with the students."

"Are the books decent at least?" Hermione asked meekly.

Neville looked at her darkly.

"Leave it to you to ask that question," Fred said with a laugh.

"Sorry," Hermione apologized. "I know not everyone likes reading as much as I do."

"I wish you'd come teach," Neville muttered, nursing his butterbeer.

Hermione laughed at the idea, but no one else did.

"What?" Hermione asked, halting her laughter. "You aren't _serious_."

"Why not?" Neville asked. "I shot the idea at you four months ago. McGonagall's mentioned asking you, but I already told her you refused then. Hermione, I'm getting desperate. I can't be teaching twenty classes a week. I teach nearly ten hours a day, and then I spend the rest of the time marking papers. I'm at my breaking point here. I've been using a _time-turner_."

"Neville," Hermione said, furrowing her brows. "I can't... I'm not qualified."

"There's no one more qualified," Fred said seriously. "No one has more practical experience than you, Ron, Harry, and Neville. And if anyone can bring order to chaos, it's you."

"But," she stuttered, not believing that the three people she was with were seriously pitching her this idea, "I've never taught before."

"You taught us at the DA," Hannah said meekly. "And we received better Defense training there than from Quirrel or Lockhart or Umbridge. The only years we actually received practical education, really, were from Snape and Lupin, may they rest in peace. And from you and Harry in the DA meetings."

"It's true," Neville said. "I wouldn't even be able to cast a proper patronus if it wasn't for you. And I passed the Auror examinations."

"But you had _years _of practice in-between," she said, shaking her head. "You guys are sweet, but I'm not Harry or you Neville. I can't teach."

"I didn't think I could teach either," Neville said. "I still don't know if I can, but my students are passing, so I must be doing something right."

She paused for a second, looked at all three of them, her mouth opening and closing. "But I have a job. I'm the _head _of a department. I can't just abandon that. I have _so much_ I'm in the middle of - legislatures and cases and reforms."

"Hermione, what you do is important. No one's saying it's not, _but_," Fred said, taking the time to pick his words carefully, "if these kids don't get a proper education with Defense, they're going to go out into the world like Gilderoy Lockhart, and do you really want _that _defending our cause _when _and not if, but _when _another dark wizard comes along?"

She opened her mouth to retort, but he had her. Neville had said it himself. He couldn't cast a patronus before the DA. Hell, half of the seventh years couldn't even disarm their opponents properly. There were wizards and witches at the _Ministry of Magic _who were wearing protective Weasley cloaks because they couldn't even cast protective spells.

"It'd only be until we found a qualified instructor," Neville said quickly, sensing her weakened defenses.

"I guess _if _Kingsley agreed to spare me, that I could finish my current projects at Hogwarts and have Stadler run things for a bit, _if _McGonagall even thinks I'm competent enough to handle teaching without any preparation. I'll send her an owl when - "

"Already ahead of you," Neville said, muttering something under his breath at the napkin he'd been fiddling with. It burst into flames and disappeared.

She sat at the table quietly, nervously, until she felt Fred take her hand underneath the table and squeeze it.

"If I'd had a teacher like you, maybe I would've finished," Fred said with a wink.

Hermione blushed and looked away but smiled. She didn't miss the way Neville was looking at her, but she chose to ignore it nevertheless. When their meals arrived, they chattered about various light-hearted topics, stories about their friends, and reminiscing about the school days. Once they finished eating, the Leaky Cauldron had started to fill up with the lunch time crowd, and Hannah excused herself. Neville had to go back to Hogwarts as well, so he kissed Hannah goodbye, hugged Hermione, and nodded at Fred.

"Do you really think I would be a decent teacher?" she asked, as they stepped out of the bustling Leaky Cauldron onto the streets of Diagon Alley.

"I think you'd be fantastic," Fred said genuinely. "And I actually think this would be a good opportunity for you. You're being thrown into the mix for two months, and then you get three months to think about whether you want to do it permanently or not. Frankly, I think you'll decide to stay."

"You're assuming McGonagall would even want me," she said with a frown. "It's not in Neville's authority to offer teaching positions."

"No," Fred agreed with a smile. "But he _did _say McGonagall had already considered you for it, and you've always been her favorite."

"McGonagall doesn't pick favorites," Hermione defended indignantly.

"Sure she doesn't," Fred said, whistling, and opening the door to Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes for her.

"It's rather busy," she said in surprise.

"This isn't busy. It's a Hogsmeade weekend for Hogwarts students this weekend. You should come by and see how busy _that_ location is going to be," he suggested with a proud grin. "We only really staff it during Hogsmeade weekends, but it gives us as much profit as two or three regular weekends here."

"I'll come by," she agreed. "Oliver's got to go straight from the World Cup qualifier tonight to a training camp in Germany, so he won't be back until next week."

"So I've got you then," Fred said, smiling a bit wider than she wished he was.

"Fred," she said quietly, uncomfortably.

"Don't worry," he said, still smiling, dismissing her worries yet again without addressing them.

"Hello, Hermione," said a voice similar to Fred's but higher.

"Hi, George," she greeted, when George popped around the corner in his suit and hugged her, kissing her cheek.

"You've come by again," he commented with a smile that looked a bit forced. "Spending a lot of time here these past few months."

"_George_," Fred whispered threateningly, causing Hermione to furrow her brows in confusion. "Don't start."

"I'm not," George said, patting his brother on the back roughly. "So, have you two already had lunch, or would you like to join Angelina and me?"

"We've just had something to eat, but thanks," Hermione said, still confused at what the tense exchange between the Weasley twins had been about.

"Alright then. Verity and Greg have everything covered, so I'm off," he said, tipping his hat off to the two of them and leaving through the front door.

"That was weird," Hermione murmured. "Does George not want me here?"

Although his greeting had been friendly enough, there had been some oddness behind his words. To be fair, he did have a point. Since the night Fred and Hermione had played games all night upstairs and the next day when he distracted her with card tricks so much that she wasn't even able to stammer her way through responses when Oliver asked her what she thought about certain plays later, she'd spent a lot of time with him. He never brought up what had happened between them, and it felt like everything had gone back to normal.

Except they were closer somehow, she had to admit. She would sometimes go over to his flat, where she found out he liked Muggle movies, and they'd watch together - classic horror films mostly. Or he would come over to hers, and she'd cook for him. Or they'd go out for dinner or drinks, go out exploring, or play with Teddy while his grandmother went to play bridge. Or her favorite, they'd come back to Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, where he'd show her what he was working on, and she got to actually use her magic in practical, creative ways, in troubleshooting products or helping with ideas for them. Fred had insisted that he give her a cut of the profit, but she refused it. So instead, anything she helped with a substantial amount had a sticker on it, denoting that a portion of the profits would be donated to various charities, such as St. Mungo's Mental Health Research Fund, or to the widows and orphaned children of the war

"George is a prat," Fred muttered darkly, the smile sliding off his lips.

"You two don't fight often," she said gently, putting her hand on his arm. "If it's about me, if I'm getting in the way, then I don't have to come here."

"That's not it," Fred said, shaking his head and looking at the ground, trying to force a smile back across his face. "Never mind. Let's just go upstairs, yeah?"

"Alright," she said, letting her hand drop down his arm to squeeze his hand.

He smiled at her and led her behind the counter, where Verity and Greg were ringing people up. He greeted his employees passively, before he jogged up the stairs, followed by Hermione.


	10. Weasley's Wand Work

_Author's Note: _Another chapter! And don't forget to check out my new story (a sequel to Overclocking but can be read as a one-shot standalone as well; it's Remus/Hermione)!

* * *

**Chapter 10: Weasley's Wand Work**

In four days' time, her entire life had changed. She had received an owl in the middle of an upper level Ministry meeting after her lunch with Neville, Hannah, and Fred. It had been persistent enough to get past all levels of security, and it dropped one letter in front of Kingsley Shacklebolt, the current Minister of Magic, and one in front of Hermione. The letter was addressed in a beautiful scrawl, with the Hogwarts seal melted on it. Hermione knew immediately what it was in regards to, and after Kingsley read the letter, he dismissed Hermione to meet with McGonagall.

She'd floo'd into the Headmistress's office, a portrait of Dumbledore greeting her fondly, a portrait of Snape sneering at her silently. McGonagall had skipped all formalities and had immediately gone into what a disaster this was, and how _never_, in the _history _of Hogwarts had a professor _ever _deserted his position in the middle of his term. Hermione couldn't argue this, as she knew it to be true. She'd read _Hogwarts: A History _enough to know that.

She then repeated how grateful she was that Hermione was even considering taking on the position, promised her that lesson plans for her had already been outlined and that all she had to do was stick to the lesson plans, review the fifth and seventh years for their examinations, and McGonagall would be able to use her time to find a permanent replacement.

Hermione didn't have a chance to open her mouth to speak, as McGonagall kept going on and _on _about how she'd always hoped Hermione would take a post at Hogwarts and how there was no one better for the job, pride radiating with every word. Meanwhile Dumbledore, in his portrait behind McGonagall's desk, beamed at Hermione and listened to the exchange quietly, popping lemon drops into his mouth.

What choice did Hermione have but to accept?

She didn't have to owl anyone but Oliver the news, as Kingsley had just _assumed _she'd take the position and had announced it to the whole of the Ministry via a memo, so Harry and Ron found out the way, and word got around to everyone. Oliver, on the other hand, told her he was incredibly proud of her and told her he was sorry that he was going to miss her first days at Hogwarts, which would be next week. He told her he'd have three days off at the end of next week and would come by to see her immediately.

She told him she'd fill him in on where she'd be staying. She wasn't sure if she'd be required to live at the castle or whether her own flat would be adequate. The details were still fuzzy. It wasn't pay she was concerned with, as her job at the Ministry was secure for now and carried a plentiful salary, but she didn't know what other requirements were expected of her as a professor logistically.

Without her questions answered, she'd come to the Great Hall on Friday, where her position was announced to the students, and she was welcomed with a deafening roar of applause from everyone, the loudest bits coming from the four troublemaking Gryffindor boys.

Then Saturday came around, and here she was, getting ready to apparate to Hogsmeade. She wondered if she'd be put in a position to act as an authority figure already, but she tried not to think about it. She knew Neville would be there, too. So she was off with a pop.

The streets were flooded with Hogwarts students, some of which greeted her warmly and courteously, with a "Morning, Professor."

When she walked into Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, she saw Fred and George there, along with two wizards and a witch she didn't recognize. She supposed that they were the Hogsmeade employees. The place was so packed that she had to shove her way through in order to get to the counter. Fred was unboxing more product, waving his wand and stocking them on the shelves.

Gone were his business clothes, replaced with jeans and a more casual button-up, the sleeves still rolled up. He wiped sweat from his forehead. She stood and watched him for a while, waving his wand and sending products zooming, some of them hitting their targets, and some grabbed midair by overzealous students. He hadn't noticed her yet and was saying something to a group of Ravenclaw girls huddled together at the front, giggling. He winked at them, and they all grabbed what he'd stuck out in his hand and gave him handfuls of coins in exchange.

He was _good_, she gave him that.

After a bit more work, he finally seemed to notice her, and he stopped what he was doing immediately to come out behind the counter and give her a kiss on the cheek. "Hello, love. Been here long?"

"A bit," she admitted, smiling. "You were right. It's _madness _in here."

"We have two more employees coming in at ten," he said, looking down at his watch.

As if on cue, two more young wizards came in through the front door, sporting Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes shirts. The girl on the floor called them over to her, before sending them off in different directions, and Hermione assumed she was the store manager.

"Can you take a break, or are you too busy still?" Hermione asked, as people continued to push their way through the crowd.

"Oi, Georgey, I'm taking a break," Fred called, dragging her out of the store even though George opened his mouth to yell at him in reply.

Once out in the open, he wiped sweat off his forehead again. "Kind of hot in there," he said. "But anyhow, I guess I should congratulate you, _Professor _Granger."

They began walking through students and toward the Three Broomsticks, his hand on the small of her back.

"You have _no _idea how weird it is for me that people are calling me that," she said, shaking her head. "I'm too young, aren't I?

"Not to them," he said in amusement, pointing to a group of small students who looked to be first or second years. They scattered like ants when Fred and Hermione approached.

"Oh _Gods_," she said, shaking her head. "Now I feel ancient."

"I'm only messing with you, love," he said, bring his arm around her even more and squeezing her to him in a hug. "You're not old. They're just too young."

She giggled at his rationale

"Well, either way, I'm nervous about Monday," she said as they grabbed a table, signaling to the woman behind the counter that they wanted two butterbeers.

"What's your first lesson?" he asked.

"Fifth year Slytherin and Gryffindors," she said, cringing. "What are the odds that they'll get on better than Slytherin and Gryffindor got on in our days?"

"A bit better, I'd say," Fred said, a smile creeping on his face. "If Malfoy and Ron could spend half of New Year's Eve singing love songs to each other, then anything's possible."

She giggled at the memory. "That's true, but look at how much we've all been through together. These kids don't have that."

"No," Fred agreed. "But they were raised in an environment where Muggleborns and half-bloods are heroes and leaders in our community. It's a humbling experience to even the most staunch of purists. I don't think the Malfoys are the only family to have come around. I'd put my money on things actually changing for the better."

"That's awfully optimistic," she said, meeting his hazel eyes.

"I think you have to be optimistic," Fred said genuinely, shrugging. "What else is there?"

She smiled to herself and looked down at her hands shyly. He was right, of course, and she was grateful for his perspective.

"So," she said, clearing her throat. "I've already read all the required materials for all years, luckily. I'm already prepared for my lectures for this week mostly, but I'm going to go to the castle later tonight to prepare a bit more, I reckon. I plan to get ahead more today and tomorrow. I'd really love to be prepared all the way to the end of the year, but there simply isn't time for that. So I'll have to do a bit of improvising."

"You'll do great," he encouraged, taking her hand. "You were born for this."

She blushed and smiled again, meeting his warm hazel eyes. They sat in silence for a moment, gazing into each other's eyes, searching for something, although what, Hermione didn't know. Hermione dropped her eyes to his lip when he licked them, and she was saddened to see the smile on his face falter as he looked away completely.

"Hello again, _Professor_," said a far-too-cocky voice behind her.

She turned and was greeted with the sight of only two of the troublesome boys, the blond one and the raven-haired one.

"Hello, Mr. Reynolds, Mr. Pipers," she said, grinning cordially as she turned around. "Shouldn't you boys be off enjoying your Hogsmeade weekend?"

Fred was annoyed. She could tell. But he slapped a half-assed smile onto his face anyway as he regarded the two boys.

"Oh, but we _are, Professor_," replied the blond boy in a surprisingly American accent.

Well, she supposed she shouldn't be too surprised. She didn't know how many wizarding schools there were in the world. Hogwarts students tended to be limited to within the UK, but Durmstrang had students from all over Europe and Russia.

"Why does that give me a knot in my stomach?" Hermione asked with a sigh.

"Probably because you've been around Weasleys all your life," Fred whispered so only she could hear, and she tried to mask the giggle that erupted from her mouth with a cough.

"We take insult to that, Professor," Pipers replied smoothly. "Don't we, Ethan?"

"We do," agreed Reynolds. "We just wanted to buy you a drink."

This time, she didn't try to mask the low, loud laugh that vibrated through her belly and burst out from between her lips. She tossed her head back and let the laughter take over. She even heard Fred chuckle.

Two sixth years wanted to buy her a drink. Oh dear God. She couldn't wait to tell Ginny about this. They'd be laughing for days.

"As you can see," Hermione replied, looking at the wounded looks on their faces, "I already have a drink. I appreciate the thought, boys."

"Although I'm not sure if your mums would appreciate the knowledge that you're spending the allowances they give you to woo your professors," Fred commented, this time loud enough for both of them to hear.

Hermione covered her mouth to quiet the laughter she knew she wouldn't be able to maintain locked inside her mouth.

"My mum doesn't give me money," Pipers argued like a proud lion. "I had a job over hols."

"My apologies, lad," Fred said, pulling into his pocket to see if he had something there. He came up with two pieces of parchment, which he handed to them. "As a reward, help yourselves to two free boxes of Weasleys' Warrior Gobs, and tell all your friends about it."

Hermione couldn't believe Fred had just turned his mockery of them into an opportunity to generate more business, but he had, and she kept her hands clasped over her mouth to prevent herself from laughing.

Reynolds took the parchment, but Pipers stared at it indignantly.

"Do you really think you can buy us off with a voucher for a free product?" he huffed.

"You'd be stupid not to take it, wouldn't you?" Fred asked, cocking his head to the side with a smile. "Free is free. Take it as your reward for giving us a laugh, and go redeem it."

"It _is _a fun game," Hermione admitted, still hiccupping with laughter.

"You've played it, Professor?" Reynolds asked curiously.

"She helped me work out some kinks during product development," Fred said proudly, beaming at Hermione.

"Did you, really?" Reynolds asked, thoroughly impressed.

"I did," she confirmed. "Part of the fun of magic is experimenting with it to see what new things you can accomplish. You'd be surprised at how much can be done with a wand that you'd never have thought possible."

She had silenced Reynolds' and Pipers' cockiness, and they were both silently watching her, with rapt attention.

"Now, this isn't something you'll be learning in _my _class, but think about how convenient it would be, if you could charm your watch to tell you if you're late," she said, tapping the wristwatch on Reynolds' wrist with her wand. It glowed a steady blue, before the numbers twisted around it, and it turned into a timer. "Or if you had a bit too much to eat at Christmas and simply wanted your glass to refill itself, because you just can't be bothered to get up." She pointed her wand at the tap where the butterbeer came from and siphoned liquid from it. A long rope of it came over and refilled her glass. The students watched in fascination, and she saw that their other two trouble-making friends had joined them.

"Now make sure to pay for your drinks," she said, taking out her coin purse and tapping it. The students laughed, but were still again when the right number of coins exited her bag, grew magnificent golden wings, and glided into the awaiting hands of the amused wizard at the bar. The wings disappeared, and the coins fell lifelessly into his hands.

There was applause around the room, and she didn't miss the fact that a small crowd had formed around her and Fred.

"Now here's something you _will _be learning from me, despite the fact that it's not part of the required curriculum. _If _you're in my N.E.W.T level classes, that is," she said, with a genial smile. "_Expecto Patronum!"_

An otter burst forth from her wand and stood at attention. This enough made the students whisper and point, as she assumed most of them hadn't seen a corporeal patronus. She knew none of her classmates had, until Harry had taken things into his own hands.

"I know you all think the world is a safe place now, but it never stays that way for long, I'm afraid," she said softly.

Fred stood up from his chair and backed toward the bar, a gap between he and Hermione forming. He took out his wand and waved it above his head, conjuring a frightening cloaked figure, like a Dementor, who advanced upon the patronus. Some of the younger students who had gathered squealed and backed away in fear. But her otter dove through the air at him, crashing into him and causing him to disappear into a firework of black. A bit of smoke filled the air, and her otter emerged triumphant, to applause from the students.

Fred wasted no time in shooting a red curse at her, through the gap in the students, and the otter dove in front of it and opened its mouth, swallowing it whole. She knew it was a weak curse, as she knew her patronus wouldn't be able to adequately defend her against magic as powerful as Fred's under normal circumstances. But it was for demonstration. As Fred fired curse after curse, the patronus protected her at her direction.

Hermione lowered her wand and smiled as the students around her seemed relieved that the onslaught of curses ended. Her otter sat down on the table and yawned.

"But sometimes, the world isn't as sinister as that, and you just want to have a bit of fun," she said, with a smile.

Fred raised his wand again, a goofy grin on his face, and he shouted, "_Expecto Patronum!" _as well.

Out of bright white light, a hyena took shape, prancing around with a grin on its face that matched its masters. It trotted over to Hermione's patronus, and her otter hopped on top of it. They ran around together, both with smiles on their faces to match their owners. And then they disappeared, the light diffusing through the throng of laughing students.

There was applause, and Fred walked back over to sit down next to Hermione, winking at her.

"Just a small reminder to you all," she said, making eye contact with Reynolds and Pipers in particular, "that being a competent witch or wizard is not only important, but it can be fun as well. Now off you go. Go buy too many sweets or get into some mischief elsewhere."

"Or do both, at Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes!" Fred exclaimed with a grin.

Hermione rolled her eyes at him and shook her head. "Shameless advertising," she said.

Fred winked at her again.

"I'll see you all in lessons next week!" she exclaimed, and the students, still talking amongst themselves, dispersed.

"See how good you'll be?" Fred asked, taking her hand on top of the table.

She smiled and looked down at their joined hands. "I do have to admit that there was something exciting about that."

"You're never going back to the Ministry; I'm telling you!" he argued, his eyes glittering. "You were _born _for this."

"We'll see," she said, although she had trouble wiping the smile off her face for the rest of the day.


	11. Weepy Weasleylessness

**Author's Note: **Here's another chapter, for kicks. Only three left and a short epilogue after this!

* * *

**Chapter 11: Weepy Weasleylessness**

"Good morning, Hermione," McGonagall said warmly, as Hermione sat down at the Head Table, wearing slacks and a black vest over a white and blue striped button up underneath her full, black robes.

Hermione widened her eyes in surprise but quickly narrowed them again to a normal size. Why _should _it be strange to her that McGonagall called her by her first name? After all, they were _colleag - _she stopped herself mid-thought. She couldn't even _think _that she was equals with McGonagall. The thought was too staggering. She was the woman who had honed Hermione's abilities and guided her down the path of success. There was no way that anyone could mistake them for equals. _Yet_, anyway. It was probably just too strange for her to call her by her new title.

"G'morning, Professor," Hermione replied kindly.

"And good morning to you, Longbottom," McGonagall said, eyeing Neville's glee with wariness.

Alright, so maybe she liked Hermione a _bit _more than Neville, even though she knew the Headmistress respected him just the same.

"Good morning, Professor," Neville replied with a grin, plopping himself down next to Hermione. "And good morning, Hermione. I'm _so _relieved you're here."

Hermione didn't miss the shake of head McGonagall aimed at Neville, but that didn't let him spoil his mood.

"Did you sleep in your quarters last night?" Neville asked, immediately munching on a piece of toast. "Or are you commuting?"

"I slept here last night," Hermione said. "My quarters are beautifully decorated. The old professor must have had good taste."

"Actually, your accommodations haven't been in-use in over ten years," McGonagall said. "We have a wide variety of lodgings available. I didn't think you would appreciate his taste, so I put you where Remus stayed at his brief time here."

"Really?" Hermione asked excitedly, thinking back to the shelved walls, filled with bookcases and various devices used for defense purposes. "I could definitely see it having been his style. Thank you so much for the thought."

"It's not a problem," McGonagall sniffed, a smile threatening to spill onto her face again.

"You think you'll be staying in them then?" Neville asked with a grin.

"I'll still keep my flat, I think, because I _love _my flat, and it's right on the outskirts of London," she said thoughtfully. "But it would be convenient to stay here while teaching. While Oliver's busy, anyway."

She blushed as she mentioned the last thing, but neither McGonagall nor Neville seemed to care much about that.

"So I heard you and Mr. Weasley put on quite a display on Saturday," McGonagall said, quirking her eyebrow at Hermione.

She blushed even deeper. Did McGonagall think she was showboating? Oh Gods, she hoped not.

"No need to look so distressed, Hermione," McGonagall said with a smile. "I heard students talking about whether it'd be difficult to grow wings on inanimate objects. I didn't even mind that they'd been practicing magic in the hallways, because I was too busy awarding a Ravenclaw student ten points for managing to grow wings on his textbook and another ten points when it actually flew around the room. It's good to see students interested in their studies."

"I heard about it, too," Neville said through a full mouth, much to the disgust of McGonagall. He swallowed before he continued. "Flitwick got caught on the way here this morning by a couple of third years who asked him how to charm a watch to tell them if they're late or not."

"Oh, dear," she said, biting her lip. "Perhaps I should have taken some questions. I don't want to weigh anyone else down."

"Don't be silly," McGonagall said, dismissing her. "It is a credit to an educator when a student wants to know more. It is our duty to nurture such behavior."

"Well," Hermione said, smiling into her bowl of cereal. "I'd be lying if I said I wasn't a bit excited. I'd forgotten how exhilarating it can be to show some practical magic. Makes all the theory you learn worth it."

"Doesn't seem to help any less people from dozing off in my course when we're not in one of the greenhouses actually working with plants," Neville said. "So if you learn the secret of keeping students attentive during lecture, please pass it on."

She smiled weakly at poor Neville, who looked miserable at the thought.

After breakfast, Hermione stopped by her quarters to grab a few things and put them in a bag, before she headed off to the classroom. When she arrived, about a minute early, students were already seated in the room, and judging by the color of their ties and the clear division of green on one side and red on the other, she knew that some rivalries died harder than others.

As she walked through the center aisle and set her bag down on the table, she smiled at the group before her.

"Good morning, everyone!" she bellowed. "For those of you who don't know me, my name is Hermione Granger. I'm the Head of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures at the Ministry of Magic, but don't think that means I lack experience defending against the Dark Arts. I received the Order of Merlin, first class for my contribution in the war against Voldemort and have ample experience both dueling against Deatheaters and other dark wizards, as well as being on the wrong end of some particularly nasty Unforgivables.

"This doesn't mean I'm the most qualified of people to take the post, but I'm nothing if not stubborn, so you're stuck with me. For a bit, at least. I'm sorry you've lost your professor due to some rather peculiar circumstances, but never fear. I will do my best to provide you the adequate support you need in order to pass your O.W.L. examinations. You've been studying for them for five years now, and I'll try my best not to muck things up in the two months prior to sitting for them."

She was glad when she got a few laughs, and she sat down on the desk in the front of the room. "The Headmistress has told me where you are in your revisions, so we shall continue from there. But before we do, does anyone have any questions for me?"

A timid hand was raised from a Gryffindor boy in the middle.

"Yes, Mister...?"

"Finkey. Thomas Finkey," he said. "Professor, do you reckon that the Patronus Charm is going to be on the exam? Because we haven't learned it yet."

She smiled warmly at him and shook her head. "No, Mr. Finkey. It was on the exam when I took mine, but examinations have since then been revised to be more fair, a better reflection of your realistic abilities at this point. The Patronus Charm is a bit too complex to be expected of fifth years to perform, so it's been moved to the N.E. , although it bears more weight there instead of serving as a sort of bonus like it did here. If you gain a score of 'Acceptable' or above on your O.W.L., you'll be learning it next year. Anyone else?"

No one else raised their hand.

"Excellent," she said, smiling at them. "Stand up, everyone."

The students did as they were told, and Hermione swept her wand across the room, causing all the desks and chairs to fly up toward the ceiling, where they hovered like the candles in the Great Hall. Some students, who didn't have their wands on their person, grabbed at them before the desks got too high up to reach.

"Today, we're going to be focusing on '_Protego' _and variations thereof. You might be wondering why it's necessary to learn variations of the basic shielding spell, but there's a simple explanation. Can anyone tell me?"

A Slytherin girl with jet black hair and porcelain skin raised her hand.

"Miss...?" Hermione asked apologetically.

"Parkinson," she replied timidly.

"Relation to Pansy Parkinson?" Hermione asked, cocking her head to the side.

"She's my sister," she replie hesitantly, as if she was wondering whether Hermione would have prejudice against her. It was clear that Pansy had mentioned her name once or twice.

"Good, good," Hermione replied. "So...?"

"'_Protego' _shields against basic spells, but in order to shield against more complex curses, charms, or spells, the shield must be specific to the magical components and properties that make up the spell it's defending against," she said.

"Excellent! Ten points to Slytherin!" Hermione said, smiling at the girl, who flashed a timid smile back at her.

It felt so strange to be uttering those words, she had to admit.

"So we now know that casting an effective shield requires the caster to be aware of what they're protecting against, as well as have quick enough reflexes in order to counter it. Can anyone tell me one way in which you might be able to tell what spell is being fired at you?"

A Gryffindor girl raised her hand. Hermione pointed to her.

"Miss...?"

"Terrell," she replied. "You can tell by the motion which they make when they cast the spell."

"Five points to Gryffindor," Hermione said. "Can anyone tell me another way?"

A Slytherin boy raised his hand. She pointed to him.

"Blake Woods," he said. "And you can tell by the color of what they're firing at you. If you're far enough away to where it's not too late to protect against it, at that point."

"Five points to Slytherin, and excellent point Mr. Woods," she said, as the rest of the class laughed. "There's one more way. Anyone?"

No one raised their hand.

Hermione twirled her wand around her hands, a smile creeping onto her face.

"You're overthinking this," she said with a laugh. "If I'm a dark witch, and I yell out the incantation for Fiendfyre, how can you tell that it's a Fiendfyre, before you see the light jet out of the wand, before you see the flames?"

"By hearing you yell the incantation?" asked a Gryffindor up front.

"Excellent!" she exclaimed. "So now I'm going to demonstrate to you, a few of the basic variations on _'Protego,' _and then you're going to pair up and practice. So who's going to volunteer to curse, charm, or transfigure your Professor?" She wiggled her eyebrows. "I know you've all been fantasizing about getting the opportunity since the first time a professor announced a pop quiz."

Everyone laughed, and a few people raised their hands bravely.

She smiled at the group and picked Parkinson, since she'd been the first to answer her question. Hermione backed up to give her some room and raised her wand.

"Send anything you want at me that's not a basic spell - anything at all," she said with an encouraging smile.

Hermione watched as the girl began to move her hand in a triangular motion, and she recognized the wandwork before the girl even had a chance to finish, before she even said the curse, before the yellow jet erupted from her wand, and Hermione raised a glowing yellow shield before the predictable light flew out of her wand and toward Hermione.

It bounced back, and the students scattered to avoid it.

"Another ten points to Slytherin for such an advanced bone deformation curse, Miss Parkinson," Hermione said, grinning at the girl, who seemed to be embarrassed that she hadn't even gotten the curse out before Hermione had predicted it. "You should consider going into healing." The girl gave her a small grin through red cheeks. "But back to the lesson. Let's start with defending against biologically-aimed curses!"

The students, who were impressed with Hermione's abilities, spent the rest of the class defending against various spells excitedly.

By the end of the class, the students were all successful, and she awarded both houses points for it. They were so pleased with the lesson that she only got a few groans of complaint when she assigned them all to make outlines of their entire first year of Defense education in pairs, something which she knew would be beneficial but would take them several hours, even with partners. They didn't even mind that she mandated they pair up with a member of the opposite house.

After lunch, two more lessons (one of them a double), and some lesson planning, she walked to the Great Hall with much more confidence than she'd had coming in this morning, especially when she heard Pansy Parkinson's sister, a Slytherin prefect, mention to one of the younger students that she learned a lot in the Defense lesson, assuring her that Hermione wasn't biased against Slytherins.

She sat down at the table between McGonagall and Neville, a broad grin on her face.

"Heard some of the students talking about your lesson today," Neville said, patting her on the back. "Great job."

"Thank you," she replied. "Fred told me that the students would respect my experience and appreciate my thoroughness, but I didn't think they'd actually _like _me. I can't wait to tell him."

Neville chuckled at her. "What did Wood say when you told him you'd be teaching?"

"He was encouraging as well," she said, trying to draw anything memorable out of the letter she received. To be honest, she'd just sort of skimmed it. She was busy preparing for her lessons already by the time she got 'round to owling.

"That's good," Neville said taking a sip out of his goblet. "Are you going to tell him how it went?"

"I suppose," she said, a bit irritated at Neville's insistence on questioning her about this. "But I'll wait until he gets back on Friday. He's too busy training to be worried about me, I'm sure."

Neville opened his mouth to say something but seemed to think better of it. He squirmed for something else to say, until he finally landed on a new topic. "So can I see your quarters tonight? I've only seen mine and Flitwick's. Don't ask me about why I was at Flitwick's, by the way. It's kind of an embarrassing story."

She furrowed her brows and smiled in confusion, nodding slowly, as she tried to imagine an embarrassing scenario which would lead to Neville being in Flitwick's quarters. Her mind didn't have to work too hard before she shut the idea down, because of how many disturbing ideas flittered through her head.

"Alright," she said slowly. "But no, sorry, I'm probably going to be late tonight. I've standing plans."

"Oh yeah?" Neville asked. "Game night is this Friday, right? Or did we move it because Wood's coming back that day?"

"What?" she asked distractedly. "No, it's still Friday, and Oliver and I will be there. Fred and I are going to the Muggle cinema to see a comedy film. He's really fond of this American bloke, who just kind of screams at everyone. I don't see the appeal, but it's his turn to pick. But he's treating me to dinner afterward, so I don't mind."

"Have fun," Neville said, although it looked like he wanted to say something else.

Hermione picked at her food, knowing that she'd be eating something else soon enough anyway, and feeling annoyed again.

"When did you become so nosy?" she asked him, trying her best to sound neutral instead of like a passive aggressive bitch.

He smiled at her oddly. "I'm not particularly nosy, Hermione. It's that you've put me in a bit of an awkward situation as your friend."

"How's that?" she asked curiously, not following his train of thought at all.

"If you were doing something outright wrong, I could take a stand against it. But since you're not, I'm trying to keep you from doing it. But it's hard when what you're _doing _isn't the problem, but what you're _feeling_ _is_," he said, looking thoughtfully at her. "I guess it's sort of hard to explain."

But he didn't need to. She knew exactly what he meant. He thought that she was developing feelings for Fred, and even though she knew this, and knew how he felt about her, she was nurturing those feelings by spending so much time with him. If she wasn't developing feelings for him, it'd be just like all the time she spent with Neville or Ron, which didn't make her feel nausea-inducingly guilty, like she felt when she snuck into Oliver's bed late at night because she was spending her entire evening with Fred. They never did anything. Not even close to it. But the fact of the matter was that she'd thought about it.

She tried to assure Oliver that the two months they spent apart had only been a temporary setback, a hiatus, and that things were back to how they were before, and on some level, she was right. He was just as sweet and caring as he always had been. He owled her every day while away, sent thoughtful gifts to her parents, tried to have a good relationship with her friends, and was as good as boyfriends came. It was part of why she fell in love with him. On the other hand, during the two months apart, she'd spent just as much time with Fred Weasley as she had over the past year, but there had been that moment when things clicked for her, and she saw him as a man rather than just an intelligent prankster.

And then she'd been attracted to him and his sweetness, his kindness, his humor, and she'd laughed like she'd never laughed before, and felt hot like she'd never felt hot. Her entire world had been lit on fire, even through her sadness and her loss, and her longing for the man she loved.

Then, she'd gotten back together with Oliver, and she spent three months hoping that things would go back to how they were before. But they didn't. She spent more time with Fred, found excuses to see him at his store, lied about having something interesting to tell him so they could have dinner together, lied about Oliver having practice and lied to Oliver about having to work late. She felt sick to her stomach when she thought about it. She needn't have lied to Oliver. After the initial jealousy, he'd become fine with her hanging out with Fred again. So all she should have told him was that she'd be spending time with him, working on product development like she _technically _was. But she'd lied about it, because she knew on some level even _that _was just an excuse to laugh with him, to talk to him, to share her day with him.

She'd felt it coming on for a while, but she was still confused. Oliver had been the love of her life for so long, and she felt like she'd died when he ended things. But now that she had him back, it wasn't enough. He hadn't been the one to change. He'd just made the mistake of telling Fred it was okay to give things a shot, to show her how much better her life was, with him in it.

And now she had the best of both worlds. She had a new best friend, who she yearned to touch and spend her day with, and a boyfriend who was kind, considerate, and stable. But it was starting to become evident that that wasn't what she wanted, and it wasn't fair.

That's where Neville came in. The wizard, who'd once again not been given enough credit for his sheer intellect, served as her conscience, poking at her to remember what it was she had chosen.

Still, she loved Oliver. There was no denying that. It had never changed. She still loved Oliver, and the thought of losing him was gut-wrenching. But the thought of doing what she was doing to Fred, knowing how he felt about her, now aware of the longing glances he sent her, and the pain and misery she caused him, that was so much worse.

So she tried to imagine her life without late nights with Fred and movie nights with Fred, and she felt horrible. Then she imagined how it felt when Fred had held her, kissed her, smiled at her, and she had to stop, because that thought made her feel horrible as well.

She sighed.

"Neville, I know _exactly _what you're saying," she admitted sulkily. "I just dunno what to do about it."

"Just follow your heart," he said smiling brightly at her.

She tossed her head back and laughed. There were no words to be said in reply.

She was sitting on an uncomfortable steel stool, grading tests while her elbows rested on the icy steel table. As exhilarating as her week had been so far, she was anxious for it to be the next day and get her final classes for the week over with so that she could see all her friends at game night. It'd been a while since they had all been there. Last week she hadn't been able to go because of meetings with McGonagall, the week before that, Neville and Ginny had been absent, and the week before that, Neville and Ron had been gone. It'd been almost a month since they'd all gotten together in a group, and although she realized that she still saw her friends more often than most people did, a part of her mind was still used to seeing them every day.

She'd spent six years seeing them all the time. Then afterward, she'd spent every day with Ron, and she nearly saw Ginny and Harry and Neville every day as well, through Ron. Then she and Ron had split up, severing her connection to the Auror realm, and her time with them was decreased to once a week. Then she continued to be promoted, Ginny's career in Quidditch took off, and Neville started teaching, and she rarely ever saw them. It was then that they all decided to implement the weekly game night, with the promise to be there at least once a month, even if constraints stopped them coming each and every single week.

Plus, Oliver would be coming back tomorrow, and she was going to meet with him after lunch, since she didn't have any classes. She wasn't sure if the doubts about their relationship had been a manifestation of him being away an extended time, or if it was the accumulation of months of realizations that her feelings had changed. She was anxious to see which.

* * *

"You look uncomfortable," Fred said in the midst of chopping potions ingredients.

"I'd transfigure the stool to something more comfortable, but I'm worried the residual magic would affect something else you're working on," she said, dropping her quill and frowning. "You need to get more comfortable stools."

"We don't usually sit on them for prolonged periods," he said, putting his elbows on the tall table, and bending over to rest his head on his hands. "Or ever, really. We just stand."

She wanted to retort, but she couldn't think of anything valid to say. It was _Hermione _who was invading _his _workspace, not the other way around. He didn't work in her office and complain about the furniture. She knew his words to be true, as he'd only sat down for a few seconds the entire three hours she'd been here.

He sized her up with a knowing smile on his face, his eyes twinkling. "Wouldn't you be more comfortable grading papers in your office or your flat?"

She frowned, stood up, and started gathering her papers. "You're right."

And he _was _right. She would definitely be more comfortable. And she wouldn't have to deal with George popping in every now and then to grab something while he worked in the inner, normally hidden lab, only obstructed by the walls around the open archway.

She was squeezing the annoying rubber stopper into her bottle of ink and hadn't noticed him disappear upstairs until he was back again and standing behind her. She turned, fully aware of how much closer than necessary he was standing to her, holding something in his hands.

"What's that?" she asked, unable to look away from his softened smile and gentle eyes.

"A pillow," he replied, "for the stool."

He put it down on the stool, and she took that as his way of saying that he didn't want her to go, even though she was uncomfortable. He liked being in the same room as her as much as she liked being in the same room as him, even when they were working on their own things.

"So," he said, as she went back to grading and he went back to potions. "Oliver gets back tomorrow, doesn't he?"

"He does," she confirmed, chewing on her quill.

"He's been gone something like three weeks, hasn't he?" he continued softly.

"Has it been that long?" she murmured absentmindedly, marking through another incorrect response. "I guess I haven't noticed since he still owls every day."

"Have anything fun planned for his return?" he pried.

She paused what she was doing and furrowed her eyebrows. "Should I have? We're going to Gin and Harry's tomorrow, if that counts."

He merely laughed in response.

"Speaking of," she said slowly, swallowing. "I know we usually do movies on Mondays, but... since Oliver's got a week off before his next match..."

"No worries," he replied, not looking the least bit distressed or upset, like she had expected. "Owl me when you're free next, yeah? Or just pop by."

"Okay..." she said, her frown deepening.

This was definitely bad. Neville had been dead on. She was upset that Fred wasn't upset. And that was downright crazy, considering her boyfriend who she hadn't seen in three weeks would have the week off. Why wasn't she more excited about that, instead of upset about this?

"Are you alright, love?" he asked, his eyes filled with concern.

"Yeah," she replied. "I best be going, though. I have class in the morning."

"I'll walk you out," he said with a smile, waiting until she had gathered her papers again and walking her up to the ceiling hatch on the second floor. It was less annoying to disapparate from the roof than it was for him to unward the front door, then deal with any passers-by, and not get any privacy while saying goodbye.

She put her bag over her shoulder and stood at the ladder that had descended. She looked at him, his smiling face, his shining hazel eyes, his bright red hair, which had grown a bit longer but still stuck up and out to the side. She loved the light blue, striped shirt he was wearing, underneath a dark brown, almost black vest. His shirt was pulled up to his elbows, showing tone on his forearms. His large hands were perfect for potions, and for lots of other things, she knew, as she remembered things she probably ought not remember as vividly as she did. She knew she wouldn't see him for a few days, and for some reason, even a week without him felt crappier to her than three without her boyfriend.

She reached out and hugged him, leaning her head against his broad chest, squeezing him around the middle. His arms reflexively wrapped around hers, one around the small of her waist and one around her upper back, his arm curving upward to push her head further into his chest. He bent his head down against the side of her head, and she nuzzled into his neck in a way that was more familiar than it should have been.

"I'm going to miss you," he whispered, without a trace of laughter or joking.

"It's just a few days," she said, trying to convince herself of that as well. "If you really wanted to, no one would mind if you came to game night tomorrow."

He pulled her at arms' length and smiled sadly, shaking his head. She knew that's not what he meant, but there wasn't much else for her to say, not before she'd spoken with Oliver.

He stared into her eyes and bent down, as if he was going to kiss her, and she stood frozen, staring at his lips, unable to look away but unable to move in either direction. Then a tiny laugh escaped his lips, bitter and pathetic, and he let her go completely.

"Have a good lesson tomorrow," he said, fake laughter coming out of the fake smile he'd just plastered onto his lips.

"Thanks," she said, climbing up the ladder with her bag over her shoulder. "Tell George I said bye."

"Bye, Hermione," called George as he climbed up the stairs and disappeared into the other workspace there.

Hermione and Fred shared a silent laugh, and she disapparated, with a _POP!_


	12. Weasley's Weak Wall

**Chapter 12: Weasley's Weak Wall **

"Professor Granger!" called a familiar voice behind her as she approached the Great Hall for lunch.

She paused to wait for her favorite (and only) American pupil to catch up. "Good afternoon, Mr. Reynolds. Not with Mr. Pipers today?"

"He, Trevor, and Carlos don't take N.E.W.T level Care of Magical Creatures, so they're probably just now rolling out of bed and running down the stairs for lunch," he said with a grin, as he joined her.

To her surprise, after her display at the Three Broomsticks, both Gryffindor boys started to treat her with respect. They were still smarmy little bastards, but she reckoned they would grow out of it. And they'd participated during her N.E.W.T classes, which she was grateful for. She could tell from their attitudes that they were sort of leaders, well-known, well-liked, and listened to around Hogwarts, so she knew that however they treated her would be mirrored by their pupils. So it was nice when they'd taken her pointers for them in earnest and had contributed to a productive lesson.

She was actually looking forward to having double lessons with them again next week, as all four wizards were quite gifted.

"How are you enjoying Professor Hagrid's course?" she asked, beginning her walk to the Great Hall again.

"It's pretty sweet," he said, with excitement in his voice. "He's trying to arrange it so we can take a trip over summer to see _dragons_."

"Really?" she asked, surprised but pleased that Hagrid was taking such initiative with his students. "Where to?"

"Romania," he replied. "I've only ever been to England and Scotland. It'd be so cool to get to travel through more parts of Europe. Especially to see _dragons. _I can't even believe dragons exist. It's crazy, coming from, you know, getting dragged to live in England because my dad remarried some English politician or whatever and being miserable because, no offense, but TV sucks here, to finding out I can fly on a broomstick."

She smiled warmly at him. "I'm Muggleborn, too, so I can relate to that last part, sans the... 'TV sucking' bit of it."

They both laughed.

"So did Hagrid - Professor Hagrid, I mean - tell you who his connection is?" she asked curiously. "I wonder if it's Charlie Weasley."

"Yeah, that name sounds right," he said. "Is he related to Ron Weasley?"

"Ron is Charlie's younger brother," she explained.

It was nice to meet someone who didn't know her personal life and friends better than she did, although he learned enough in History of Magic to know about Ron and her.

"And he works with dragons? That whole family must be awesome. Ron Weasley helped defeat Voldemort. Then Fred and George Weasley run Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. Ginny Weasley plays professional Quidditch. And Charlie Weasley works with dragons!" he exclaimed.

She couldn't help but smile, because she felt like she'd just blown his mind with 'awesomeness.'

"The oldest, Bill Weasley, works as a Curse Breaker for Gringotts. And then after Charlie, there's Percy Weasley, who you probably know as the Deputy to the Minister of Magic," she said.

"Wow," he said. "That's the kind of thing that makes me jealous I wasn't born into a wizarding family. I bet it must be fun to hang out at that house for Christmas."

A loud laugh escaped her lips, as he held open the door to the Great Hall for her.

"You have no idea," she said. "It's chaos."

"What's chaos?"

She turned to the right and saw, sitting at the Gryffindor table alone, even though the whole of the room seemed to be focused on him, her boyfriend.

"Oliver!" she exclaimed, throwing her arms around him, and almost kissing him, before she remembered she was a professor and had to show some restraint. "I wasn't expecting you! I thought we were meeting at your flat later."

He noticed her sudden shift and pulled away gracefully, kissing her on the cheek. His eyes were dancing mirthfully, and he didn't glance away from hers, even though girls were jealously squirming, and Reynolds was pouting a little.

"We got back early, so I thought I'd surprise you, _Professor_," he said with a grin, poking his wand to his hand, a bouquet of magical, color-changing lilies appearing - her favorites.

Girls who saw the lilies squealed.

"That's so sweet," she said, smelling the sweet scent of the fresh flowers.

"So what's chaos?" he asked, smiling even more brightly.

"Christmas with the Weasleys," she explained. "Mr. Reynolds here was commenting on how 'awesome' of a family they are and how he'd like to be at their Christmas celebration."

Oliver squinted and pulled his lips apart in a pained face. He regarded the blond boy with sympathy and shook his head. "Yeah, you don't want to be there. At one point or another, I've played Quidditch with or against every single one of them, and even that's exhausting. It takes a special sort of person to be able to stomach them all in the same room at once. And by special, I mean crazy."

"Hey!" she said, smacking his shoulder playfully. "I've spent plenty of holidays with all of the Weasleys!"

"I don't take back what I said," he said, winking at Ethan Reynolds, who was trying to suppress a grin.

"I've only been a teacher for a week!" she exclaimed with a laugh. "I don't have enough authority earned for you to undermine it!"

"I'm joking," he clarified, gazing into her eyes lovingly. "You're the most incredible witch."

She blushed and looked away.

"Anywhow, you're one of the lads that was followin' us during Christmas time," he said, examining Ethan's face. "What did you wind up tellin' your mates?"

"That you drank firewhiskey with us and told us a whole bunch of secrets about Puddlemere United," Ethan answered with a wicked grin.

Hermione's jaw dropped, and she gaped at her student.

"Good on you," Oliver said with a laugh, slapping the blond on the back. "Just do me a favor and make sure everyone knows that if they mistreat Professor Granger, they've got a professional Quidditch player to contend with."

"So you're dating?" he asked.

"I figured that much was obvious after the last time we spoke, lad," Oliver said with a laugh.

"I thought that you were," Ethan said with a grin. "We told everyone that you were, but then after Hogsmeade last weekend, no one believed us."

Hermione tried her best not to blanch, as Oliver's smile faltered, and he looked at the boy questioningly. As if on cue, his three friends burst through the doors with disheveled hair that seemed to indicate that his assumption that they'd been sleeping had been correct. They were chatting loudly and paused when they saw their friend speaking with their professor and Oliver.

"See!" Richards announced suddenly and loudly to some Gryffindor girls at the end of the table who were ogling Oliver. "I _told _you that Granger was dating _the _Oliver Wood."

More whispers erupted in the Great Hall, and Hermione saw this taking a very bad turn, both for her career and for her sanity.

"Five points from Gryffindor, for your lack of tact and addressing a professor so disrespectfully, Mr. Richards," Hermione shrieked.

She took Oliver by the hand and dragged him away from the scene that was unfolding and toward the Head Table, where she had hoped no one had caught what had just happened. It seemed that luck was on her side, as McGonagall was deep in conversation with Hagrid and looked up in surprise when she saw Oliver.

"Hello, Wood," she said warmly. "Are you coming to the match between Gryffindor and Ravenclaw tomorrow?"

Oliver was still blinking in confusion at Hermione, so she didn't think he knew what he was agreeing to when he mumbled that he would and sat down between Hermione and McGonagall.

"What was he talking about?" Oliver asked curiously.

"Oh, nothing," Hermione dismissed with a wave. "I just put on a little display of unique uses of magic with the help of Fred."

"Oh," Oliver said blandly. "I guess that makes sense. You met him while patrolling, since he has his shop there, and the kids got the wrong idea. They just latch onto anythin', don't they?"

"They sure do," she replied with a forced smile, not bothering to correct him, since she hadn't had patrol duty.

He perked up a bit. "I really missed you."

"Me, too," she said, her stomach clenching as he squeezed her hand. "I thought, since we're going to game night tonight, that tomorrow we could spend the day just relaxing at your flat or mine, but you've just volunteered us to come to the Quidditch match instead."

"I have?" he asked with a lopsided grin.

"You _just _did, yes," she said, laughing at him and shaking her head. "Silly man."

"That's okay," he said with a wolfish grin. "We still have the entire afternoon."

* * *

How game night had ended with them all being drunk was beyond her. They usually kept things classy, and by classy, she meant that they at least stayed sober through most of it. This time, however, everyone had brought wine, and Harry and Ginny still had leftover spirits from their anniversary dinner party, and the result was that everyone was plastered shitless except for Ginny, who was contact high if nothing else.

Currently, Ron and Harry were drawing pictures in a game of Pictionary where the timer seemed to have been long forgotten, as they'd been at it for nearly half an hour now with the same crude drawings. Hermione and Oliver were on Ron's team, while Ginny and Neville were on Harry's, with Hannah keeping score (and by keeping score, she meant pouring drinks and distracting Neville by whispering into his ear what she assumed to be dirty things based on the color of his ears).

"IT'S A TREE!" Neville yelled.

"You've already guessed that a dozen times!" Ginny yelled to him, turning back to her husband angrily. "ARE YOU SURE IT'S NOT A TREE, HARRY?"

"IT'S NOT A TREE!" Harry replied. "WHY WOULD A TREE HAVE TENTACLES?!"

Hannah, who was supposed to tell Harry that he got a penalty or something, had plopped down into Neville's lap and was playing with his tie.

"It's a squid!" Hermione suddenly yelped, sitting up. "An octopus! An octopus with a monocle and a tophat!"

"Dammit!" Harry yelled, throwing his marker down on the ground as Ron gloated triumphantly.

"Was tha' really the card?" Oliver slurred.

"You know I can't understand your nonsensical accent when you're drunk," Hermione answered, patting him on the head.

"Mah accent's not that nonsensical, darlin'," he insisted.

"Can anyone understand 'im?" Hermione polled the room.

The vote was unanimous in favor of Hermione.

"You didna complain when we were in the comp'ny of mah Quidditch friends in Febr'y," Wood argued.

"That's because we were with Viktor, and his accent's even sillier than yours," she laughed, standing up, taking a swig straight from the bottle, and stumbling for the bathroom.

"Where you goin'?" Ron asked.

"The bathroom," she replied, taking another drink before she stumbled through the dark hallway, searching for the door to the bathroom.

Where was it? Was she in the right place? _Surely_, they had a bathroom near here. She opened a door and saw a linen closet. Opened another and saw an office. Opened another and saw a coat closet. Too many damned closets.

"Frrkk it," she said, burping, and disapparating.

It was dark, but she smiled as she appeared in the familiar bedroom. Not quite the bathroom, but that was alright. She opened the door and saw the light on. Strange. Why would she leave the light on?

She closed her eyes and stumbled toward the bathroom.

"Hermione?" she heard a surprised voice ask.

She opened her eyes and saw the adorable redhead, admiring how much cuter his red hair was than any of his brothers' hair.

"'eyyyyyyy, Freddy," she shouted with a grin, as she put her arms on his arms, which he'd placed on her waist to stabilize her. "What're you doin' in mah flat?"

"This is _my _flat," he said with a laugh. "I'd ask if you were drunk, but that seems like an unnecessary question. So instead I'll ask you what you're doing here?"

"Couldna find the washroom a' Harry 'n' Ginny's, so I thought I'd just pop over to mah flat," she explained, moving her hand up to ruffle his hair. "Guess I wound up a' yours instea'!"

She grinned when she saw his amused grin, and she leaned into him to rest her head on his chest.

"I missed your hair, Freddy," she said, massaging his scalp. "Beau'iful red hair."

"My hair?" he asked, clearly suppressing laughter but embracing her nonetheless.

"Oops," she said, giggling. "I meant tha' I missed you, but I was jus' thinkin' 'bout how much I love yo' hair, and the two jus' kinda wen' together, ya know?"

She felt his chest shake against her, and laughter finally spilled out from between his lips.

"We saw each other yesterday," he said.

"I know tha'," she whined, "bu' the thought of _not _seein' you for daaaaaayyysss or weeeeeks made me really, really saaaad. I was, like, 'Ey I won'a getta see Freddy fo' a while,' and then my brain was like, 'oh, but yo' like Freddy,' and then I was like 'since when do I call 'im Freddy?' and then I just sorta tuckered myself out and fell asleep cryin'."

She felt him tense. He took her arms and moved her body away from his. She looked up and saw a dark, confused look in his eyes.

"Whatchya think'n' 'bout?" she asked, reaching her hand up to caress his cheek.

He grabbed her wrist and put on a smile that she could tell was fake, even in her drunk state.

"You said you needed to use the washroom, yeah? Do you need help getting there?" he asked with a weird, flat tone. What was that about?

"I can go on mah own, like a big girl!" she exclaimed, and she marched off to use the facilities.

When she came out, she was met with Fred, who was holding a small bottle and a glass of water.

"This will sober you up," he said, shoving the bottle at her.

"I don't wanna," she said, pushing it away but downing the entire glass of water. "Things are less complicated this way, ya know?"

"That's the mindset of an alcoholic, isn't it?" he asked with a laugh, as he took both the full bottle and the empty glass, and set them on the counter.

"If I don' get my shit in order, I may turn into an alcoholic," she said with a laugh. "Add it to the list behin' my name, after bitch and idiot."

"Hermione, what's wrong?" he asked her, the smile dropping from his face, when he saw her eyes welling up with tears.

He was staring at her, eyes filled with concern, and she couldn't answer him. Slowly, he approached her, reaching out to caress her cheek.

"Don' touch me," she said, shaking her head. "I slept with him, you know? Twice. We had sex _twice_ today."

He jerked his hand away from her face and furrowed his eyebrows at her in confusion, his eyes filled with pain. "Why are you - ?"

"Freddy, do you still have feelin's for me?" she asked pathetically.

"You know I do," he said so quietly she almost didn't hear. "It isn't fair of you to ask. I don't understand what you're playing at."

"Well, guess what?" she asked with a sarcastic bark of laughter. "I have 'em for you, too. I didn' give two galleons that my boyfrien' was gone for _weeks_, and I miss you after a _day_. So I'm jus' gonna go break up with him. I'll be righ' back."

"Wait, Hermione," Fred said, so many emotions flashing in his eyes that she couldn't even comprehend them. "You're _drunk_. You can't make decisions like that when you're drunk. You don't know what you're saying. You haven't seen him in a while. This is my fault for monopolizing your time. I took advantage of your loneliness."

She huffed out in indignation, walked over to the counter, grabbed the potion, and drank it, knowing it would still take a few seconds to take effect, and wanting to say what she needed to before it did.

"Guess wha', Fred?" she repeated. "I thought the same. But ya know wha's been goin' through my mind since I got back togethah with Oliver? Your eyes. They aren't brown. They're hazel. Little flecks o' green 'n' blue. So beau'iful. And when I didn' see you for a few weeks after New Year's, I though' about you ever' day. I thought about the way yo' hair goes up a bit then to the side a bit, 'n' I just wanna run my hands through it. Then when Oliver left for trainin', and we started spendin' time together, I almos' forgot he existed. And then we spent more 'n' more time together over these past few months, and the entire time, no matter what, I've been thinkin' 'bout you. When anythin' happens, I canno' wait to tell _you_.

"But I though' that maybe it was because Oliver's been gone. But then he came back, and we had sex, and it was _bad_. Not like he did anythin' different. And there have been times in the past when I have no' been able to finish, but I hardly even felt anything, until I though' about _your _hands and how they felt - your warmth, your humor, your touch.

"I think a part of me is always goin' to love Oliver, but I think it's gone the way that my love for Ron has gone as well."

Fred didn't look happy like she'd expected, and this made her nervous as her head started to clear.

"No," Fred said, shaking his head. "It's because I've mucked things up for you. I can't muck them up again."

"No," she said firmly. "Maybe if Oliver and I hadn't broken up, and you and I had never gotten to know each other, then I'd still be happy with him, but I'm glad all of that happened. I think that you're the one for me, Fred. I like being around you, even when we're both doing separate things. Just knowing you're there makes me feel better."

"He's going to propose tomorrow," Fred cried out. "He sent me a note, telling me to come to the Quidditch match at Hogwarts tomorrow. He's going to propose in front of the entirety of Hogwarts."

"What?" she asked, the color draining from her face.

"He loves you," Fred said, his voice cracking. "And you love him. Things will go back to the way they were. I've interfered in something beautiful, because I've been selfish. I'm taking myself out of the picture, so things can go back to how they were."

"Fred, you can't," she said, tears welling up in her eyes once more. "Don't _you _love me?"

"Of course I love you, you dense woman," he barked, backing away. "That's why I'm doing this. You had a decision five months ago, and you made the right one. All I wanted was to be your friend, but I can see that I've messed things up, so I'm stepping back."

Her mind clear but her head pounding. She stared at him in disbelief.

"I've confused you," he said softly, looking away, his voice raw and pained. "I think it's best if we limited our time together to public settings from now on."

"No!" she cried out, repeating the sentiment that he'd once expressed in this very apartment five months ago. "I love _you_," she said, stepping forward. "I love you, Fred. For all the reasons I said and more. You're the best man I know, and I'm different around you. Even the kids see it. No one believed that Oliver and I were even dating, because they all thought you and _I _are dating. Neville's been pushing me to confront my feelings for months. Everyone can see it, Fred. _Everyone_."

Her voice was raw like his had been, and when she looked up to see Fred, she could see doubt, anger, sadness, and confusion in his eyes.

"I love you," she repeated, bringing her hand up to cup his cheek. "I'm the one who mucked things up. I can't even believe that you're still talking to me. After I left you the way I did and went back to him the way I did, I'm just... I have no words to describe how surprised I am that you were fine."

"I wasn't," he said, swallowing hard. "I holed myself up in my flat until New Year's. Didn't talk to anyone. George got peeved with me, because I didn't even go to work, and the holidays are so busy for us. My heart was broken, and I was angry. But then we had fun, and I forgot about Oliver.

"But perhaps George has been right all along. He blames you for the way I am when I'm not with you. When I'm with you, I do my work, I'm enjoyable to be around, I'm normal. When I'm not with you, I'm feeling sorry for myself. And that's not me."

Her eyes widened, and she looked at him guiltily. "I'm sorry, Fred. George has every right to be angry with me. I don't want you to be upset or quiet, with or without me."

"That's not what he's right about," Fred quickly amended. "He's expressed to me that perhaps I've been going about this thing with you the wrong way - that I won't be able to move on if I spend so much time with you, that it's easier like this for now but that it'll be harder for me in the long run. The only reason he's upset with you is because he thinks you're intelligent enough to know better."

She stepped back from him and bit her lip, contemplating his words. He was right, of course. She'd made it so hard on Fred, had been so selfish, and all Fred received in return was pain. When Hermione saw Viktor for the first time in January, she was pleasantly surprised to meet his girlfriend, who he'd brought along with him. Despite her friends' assumptions that Viktor had joined the English league to be closer to Hermione, it was purely a career move, and he'd merely used to the opportunity to reunite with some of his old friends.

Because of their lack of contact for so long, Viktor was able to move on, and he had no trouble expressing that sentiment to her. One thing she'd always appreciated about Viktor Krum was his honesty and straight-forward nature. Even his girlfriend had known of his previous interest in Hermione, but the Ukrainian model had no insecurities pertaining to that (or anything, really, since the witch was gorgeous _and _humble _and _intelligent).

"I've been awful," she said, shaking her head sadly. "George is right. I've been horrible. I've given you so much pain with not much else to show for it."

"That's not true," Fred said, although he made no move to get closer to her.

"But you've been so _sad_," she said quietly. "And that's not the Fred Weasley I fell in love with."

"I've only been that way," he said, swallowing hard, "because I'm upset that you're not with me."

"So be with me!" she exclaimed. "Instead of having to let you go, why can't we be together?"

"You're with Oliver," he reminded her.

"I'm going to break up with him," she said sharply.

"He's going to propose tomorrow," Fred said, ignoring her previous comment.

"I'm going to break up with him right now," Hermione said, "before he gets the chance."

"Don't."

"We're arguing in circles," she said, letting out a frustrated cry. "I wish I could just kiss you now to prove to you how serious I am, but neither one of us would ever forgive ourselves for hurting Oliver any more than we have. So I'm going there now. You're going to stay awake and wait for me."

"Don't do it," he pleaded. "You'll regret it."

"I've regretted not doing it for months already," she said, shaking her head. "Every day I spend with you, I'm reminded of how much I'd rather be with you."

She brought her eyes back up to meet his, but he wasn't looking at her. He was blankly staring at the wall behind her, his body limp, his eyes lifeless. Encouraged by his lack of silence, she moved to his front door, thinking it probably rude to keep apparating and disapparating inside his flat.

"Wait," he demanded dully, once again echoing what he'd pleaded with her, months prior.

This time she listened, turning around to face him. He was still standing in the same spot, not looking at her, his eyes tittering back and forth around the same area of the wall, the only sign that he was alive at all. She blinked in concern and took a step toward him, in question.

"I won't have you ruin another of my relationships," he said blankly. "If you're going to break up with Oliver, at least have the decency to leave me out of it."

She paled, her brown eyes staring at him in shock. How he could utter such harsh words while staying so calm was incredible.

"I don't care what you do," he said quietly, "but I want nothing more to do with you, Hermione."

She felt as if her heart would stop. Debilitating pain shot throughout her body, and she shuddered uncontrollably, fat droplets cascading down her face. She stood frozen, staring at him.

"I've had enough," he said quietly. "I can't take any more."

And without turning to look at her, he glided toward his bedroom, closing the door behind him.

Hermione, feeling her heart bursting, and then nothing afterward, disapparated.


	13. Weasley's Wasted Warding Off

**Chapter 13: Weasley's Wasted Warding Off**

Hermione woke up in her bed the next day feeling warm - drenched in sweat, in fact, although it looked like her clothes had been changed for her, and a cold, wet towel was on her forehead. She felt dizzy and tired, and even though her body felt outwardly blazing, she was cold inside. When she slowly opened her eyes, she blinked at the drawn curtains of her bedroom window and reached for the bedside table. Her arm ached, and as she sat up to turn on the light, she sneezed.

"How are you feelin', Hermione?" asked a quiet voice.

Hermione looked over to the door of her bedroom. It creaked open to reveal Oliver, carrying a tray of fruit and a cup of tea.

"I 'unno," she replied hazily, her voice coming out a as a hoarse croak. She coughed to clear her throat.

"You didn't come back, so I came to check up on you and found you lying in bed with a fever," he said gently.

He walked over to her bed and sat down, handing her the cup of tea.

"I don't feel great," she admitted, taking the cup from him and sipping it.

The tea burned her tongue but felt good going down her throat. It was fantastic, not that she was in any state to properly appreciate it. She felt listless and exhausted. Now that she was awake, she remembered what happened last night. She returned the cup of tea to him, laid back down in bed, and rolled over so that she was facing away from him. She couldn't bear to look at him. He was being wonderful, every bit as wonderful as she remembered while he was gone, and she was still in love with him, no doubt about that, but he wasn't her first choice anymore.

It was either time to end things or tell him the truth. Was she a better person, she'd do both, but she didn't have it in her. She felt too sick, too tired.

"Oliver," she began, unable to face him. "We need to talk."

He sighed but remained silent, waiting for her to continue. She felt tears welling up in her eyes, and bile bubbling up in her throat, despite the fact that she felt nothing in her stomach aside from knots. She was numb. She curled up into a ball and braced herself for what she had to say.

To her surprise, it was Oliver who spoke next.

"Is this about where you went last night before you came back to your flat?" he asked darkly.

Hermione's eyes widened in shock. She couldn't even bring herself to ask how he'd known.

"Whatever you and Fred have," he said sharply taking in a breath of air, "is my fault."

"What?" she asked, sitting up abruptly. "No, no, no."

"I told him he could pursue his feelings for you, and I opened the door for you to do the same," he said reluctantly. "So there isn't a need to blame yourself or justify anything that's happened."

How was this happening? She was not going to continue letting him take the blame for a mistake he'd made more than half a year ago. He'd had her best interests in mind. His intentions had been noble, and hers had been selfish. Oliver and Fred were out of her league in terms of selflessness, but Fred had wizened up at last. She wouldn't allow Oliver to feel anything but rage at her.

"_None _of this is your fault," she said firmly, her brows furrowed, her voice still hoarse. "After what happened with Fred, and we got back together, I shouldn't have spent so much time with him. I've been selfish, and you - Oliver, you're the best boyfriend in the world."

"What did you and Fred decide last night?" he asked, looking away.

Her heart beat loudly in her chest, hearing her blood rushing past her ears. She was brought back to what happened last night, the words he'd said, her broken heart.

"We're not speaking any longer," she said quietly, dropping her gaze as well.

"I don't think it's in either of your natures, but did you and he...?" he asked, trailing off.

"No," she replied. "I know this sounds like a bit of a loaded statement, but neither of us would ever do that to you."

"That's what I thought," he said, relief evident in his voice.

Hermione sneezed again, sniffling pathetically. Oliver had come here, had changed her, had taken care of her, and all of this was while being unsure of her fidelity. This only served to make her feel guiltier for what she'd done, what she'd been thinking about, and what she'd said to Fred even while she was in a relationship with this kind, caring individual. Her heart beat rapidly in her chest, drumming in her ears.

"I'm sorry," she said meekly. "You deserve better."

"Everyone makes mistakes," he said amicably. "You know, I'd suspected you were spending more time with Fred than you let on when I was having dinner with George and Angelina one day after practice, and Angelina asked why you hadn't come. George told her that you and Fred were in the middle of transfigurin' something-or-another. Imagine my surprise."

She kept her eyes averted guiltily. It wasn't as if they'd been doing anything wrong in-and-of itself, but she'd lied to him to spend time with Fred, and that was wrong.

"I'm sorry," she repeated.

"And then when I came home yesterday, the boys made those comments," he said, ignoring her apology. "I've had a lot of time to think, Hermione."

She nodded silently, waiting for him to do the deed she'd been dreading having to do herself.

"I think it's natural to have attractions to other people, every once in a while," he said, catching her off-guard. "I don't particularly like that you spent time with him behind my back, but you say you won't be doin' that anymore. And I'm the one who opened the door for that in the first place, so I'll take some responsibility. Let's just try an' move on from here, shall we?"

"You're not breaking up with me?" Hermione blurted out, unable to disguise her surprise.

She met his brown, sad eyes. He smiled feebly at her.

"You haven't cheated on me," he said. "And you still love me, don't you?"

She paused, furrowed her eyebrows, and nodded. "Of course I do, but..."

"D'you want to break up?" he asked. "If you do, then say it. Because I told you I wouldn't make the same mistake twice."

She brought her knees to her chest and lowered her head onto them. She couldn't believe there was a man so forgiving in the world. It was unbelievable. And with the realization that she did, indeed, still love him, and that Fred wanted nothing more to do with her, she wasn't so sure what she wanted herself anymore either. Maybe it had gone both ways with Fred. She'd become infatuated with him through proximity, and maybe she would get over it if they had some time apart.

Maybe things hadn't gone back to how they had been before because of her time with Fred, just as George had suggested, just as had been the case with Viktor. Perhaps things _could _go back to how they were before now that Fred was out of the picture.

If Oliver could forgive her, then maybe she could give things another go, but a fair one this time. Until now, she had to admit that she'd also been punishing him a little for breaking things off in the first place. It wasn't fair, but it was what it was. Now, she almost felt as if they were on even ground, even if her footing was a bit shaky. Besides, what were the odds that she'd find another man like this?

"No," she said shakily. "I do still love you."

"Just promise me you'll be honest from now on," he said, taking her hand.

"I promise," she said, swallowing hard.

"Then we'll start from new," he said tiredly.

"Alright," she agreed.

"I promised McGonagall I'd referee the match, so I should get going," he said. "You stay here and rest. Wouldn't want you to get any sicker."

Relief flooded through her body as she realized that meant he _wasn't _going to propose. Not that she'd expected him to after the conversation they'd just had.

"No, I'll come," she said, pulling out a Pepper-Up from her bedside table and downing it. She stood from her bed and stretched. "This is the final match. It'd be a good way to get more of the students on my side."

"I'll wait for you to get dressed then," he said, popping one of the strawberries from the tray into his mouth.

Once dressed, they wasted no time in apparating to the gates of Hogwarts, Oliver's Firebolt XT in his one hand and Hermione's hand in the other. They entered the castle and the Great Hall, where Oliver was hounded by students, most of whom were eyeing his broomstick with jealousy.

"Come sit with us, won't you?" Pipers called through the crowd.

Hermione looked at Oliver, whose smile seemed a bit forced still, and she considered telling her students to bugger off in the nicest possible way, but Oliver's kindness won over. They were sat down at the table with the Gryffindor Quidditch team.

Pipers and Reynolds had their broomsticks in hand, but they were nothing compared to the new model Firebolt which Oliver flew on. The Gryffindor Quidditch team bombarded Oliver with questions and demanded tips and tricks on how to win the upcoming match. They were down, and if they were to lose, Ravenclaw would win, and if they tied, Slytherin would win.

Oliver tried his best to stay neutral, much to the Gryffindor team's chagrin. After a few minutes of Quidditch talk, Hermione stood up with a yawn.

"Where are you goin'?" Oliver asked, grabbing her hand. She hated how insecure he sounded.

"To talk to Neville," she said quietly. "I'll leave you to your Quidditch talk."

"Alright," he replied, letting go of her hand reluctantly. "See you out there, then."

She nodded and wished the students a safe match. She then walked to the Head Table where Neville was situated.

"Good morning, Hermione," Neville said, blinking sleep out of his eyes.

"Good morning, Neville," Hermione replied, sitting down in her usual spot next to him.

"No idea how you and Wood can be so cheerful after last night," he mumbled. "Me head's killin' me."

"Here," she said, pushing a potion toward him. She wanted to tell him what had happened, and she needed him to not be cranky for it.

He drank it gratefully, and Hermione wasted no time filling him in on her trip to Fred's, how their conversation had finished, and the conversation she'd had this morning with Oliver. By the time Hermione had gotten out everything she needed to, she and Neville were already climbing the teachers' box at the pitch.

"Wow," Neville said simply, as Hermione finally finished her story, just in time to settle down two rows behind Harrison Levy, the student who was commentating on the match.

"So, what do you think?" Hermione asked anxiously, hoping for more feedback than that after spilling her guts about everything she'd been feeling in the past several months and how absolutely shattered she still felt after what Fred told her last night.

"You want to know honestly?" he asked in a hushed tone, as Hagrid lumbered in, greeted both of them, and sat down next to McGonagall.

"Of course," she replied without hesitation.

"I'm hesitant to admit this, as I sort of think this is for the best, but I think Fred said what he did to try to get you to stay with Wood and away from him," Neville said. "As for everything else, I don't know what to say. I'm glad it's all out in the open, but I'm not sure whether your feelings were temporary or something more significant. I can't really say I have experience with that sort of situation."

She bit her lip and remembered Fred's lifeless eyes and his harsh tone as he said what he did, and she wasn't sure if Neville was right about the first bit. She just didn't know.

"So what do you think I should do?" she asked.

"D'you still love Wood?" Neville asked.

"I've never stopped loving him," she said. "And it's not as if Fred's keen on reconciliation."

"Then what have you got to lose?" Neville asked, shrugging. "Just do what you think is best."

She nodded reluctantly, their conversation cut off as the balls were released, and the match started, robes of scarlet and blue darting into positions as Oliver watched for fouls.

Compared to all of the professional Quidditch matches Hermione had seen, she had to admit that school Quidditch had become dull to her. It didn't help that an hour into the match, Prophet reporters showed up in order to get the scoop on Oliver refereeing. The match finally ended about four hours after that, with Gryffindor beating Ravenclaw by nearly three hundred points.

And just as quickly as the Quidditch game passed, so did the rest of the term. To her great relief, all of her students had passed, not that she took much of that to her own credit, considering she'd been there for only a few months. When asked by students whether or not she'd be back next term, Hermione replied honestly that she didn't know. She didn't plan on it, but she knew that McGonagall was having trouble finding a suitable teacher.

So Hermione returned to her work at the Ministry for the summer, her life returning to normal, at least until she realized that her boring paper pushing was nothing compared to the thrill of teaching. So to everyone's relief, Hermione came back in September.

The students welcomed her with open arms. Her teaching style was based loosely on Lupin's, with the in-class focus being on practical application and the homework being heavy on reading. She told them she could give them less homework, but then their lessons would be more focused on lecture and theory. When given the decision, the students decided to read on their own time without many complaints. Those who did not read were excused from the lesson as well, and as attendance was 50% of their grade, this didn't bode well for those students. The combination of bad grades, peer pressure, and detention was enough to cut those bad habits out.

Hermione spent her weeknights in her quarters out of convenience but spent weekends with Oliver, either going to his matches or meeting up afterward. Meanwhile, Hermione hadn't caught a glimpse of Fred since the last Hogsmeade weekend, when she'd seen him through the window, passing out products to students.

It had been heartbreaking to completely cut off contact, but she thought it was for the best, just as everyone had suggested. Things had settled down with Oliver, and she spent the majority of her time wishing that the emptiness she felt in her heart would go away, but it never did. Six months later, her love for Oliver was still there, but it wasn't the love she had for him a year ago. It was a faded remnant of the love that once was, instead of the burning passion she hoped it would become once more. She kept waiting for the moment when everything would click and go back to normal, but it never did. Even the comfort they once felt around one another became forced. Some small part of her felt bitter and blamed him for no longer having Fred in her life, and as she realized that Fred in her life was more important than Oliver in her life, she grew more unattached to Oliver out of guilt.

Oliver seemed to sense the same thing, but he never said anything. He stayed longer than necessary on training camp trips and went out with his mates while only half-heartedly asking her if she'd fancy going. Hermione, without Fred to be around, threw herself into her consulting work at the Ministry and tried to be ever the doting girlfriend when given the opportunity. It kept her from wondering if perhaps she hadn't spent so much time with Fred after she and Oliver reconciled the first time, things _could _have gone back to the way they were before. She didn't start falling out of love with Oliver until she started falling in love with Fred, after all. It also kept her from wondering what would be the straw that broke the camel's back in her relationship.

They never argued. Both tiptoed around one another cautiously. Not that they had anything to argue about. Everything was standard. Although both parties felt too miserable to broach the end of their relationship.

By October, Hermione and Oliver had finally ended things amicably, both parties seeming relieved, and neither mentioning anything about Fred or their last break-up or wondering if things could have stayed how they were had he not broken up with her in the first place or if she'd given their relationship her all when they had gotten back together. She didn't think it fair to put the blame on him because he broke up with her, because she took him back, and he didn't think it fair to put the blame on her, since he took her back as well. Their relationship was too tattered at that point to do anything. So when Hermione was the one to bring up the end of the relationship, Oliver laughed, and Hermione soon joined in. He'd actually thanked her for being the one to end things, as he reminded her of his promise _not _to be the one to end things again.

After they broke up, they went out for a drink at the Leaky Cauldron, which turned into multiple drinks, and eventually ended with both of them singing German drinking songs deep into the night, until Hannah kicked them out and told them to go celebrate elsewhere. Hermione didn't bother correcting her.

Oliver, ever the gentleman, asked her if he should take her home, and she responded drunkenly that they'd just wind up shagging, and that wouldn't do either of them good. Now that the pressure was off, she remembered for the first time why it was that she fell in love with Oliver in the first place. And she could do definitely do with a shag to shake her out of her self-pity, but she decided she wasn't going to make that mistake again. The last time she had, it led to her falling in love with Fred Weasley, and that wasn't exactly working out for her.

Completely wasted, Hermione had verbalized that very sentiment, and to her surprise, Oliver was so out of it as well that he admitted to her that it was a similar reason that he took _her _outfor the very first time, and that - that hadn't worked out too well either. Hysterical, they laughed again, on a bench in Diagon Alley. Oliver leaned over to kiss Hermione's cheek and told her that he would still be expecting her dad at the QC cup.

"No, but s'rsly," he slurred, taking her hand and squeezing it. "I didna make a mistake, H'rm'knee, and neither did you."

"Looooove you, Ollie-kins," she said, throwing her arms around him.

"Love you, too," he replied, patting her back awkwardly. "Though ya needter geroff. Just 'coz I do na, want ter date ya an'more don't mean I will na get a stiffy."

And such was the end of Hermione and Oliver's relationship and the restart of their friendship.

* * *

_Author's Note: I love Oliver. This isn't one of those stories that gets hundreds of reviews per chapter because it's melodramatic. I HATE stories where Ron cheats, Hermione sluts about, etc. It's not in-character. I love Oliver too much to show him in a bad light, and frankly, I adore his and Hermione's relationship in my story, even if it is sad._


	14. Weasley's Witch Wooing

_Author's Note: _Here it is- the end. I combined this chapter with the epilogue. I hope you guys enjoyed this story as much as I did. I appreciate all the feedback you've left for me, and I want to especially thank those of you who've been with me through _Overclocking_ and _Timelines_ and this. I almost feel as if I've had a mini fan-fiction revival with these stories, and I've been blessed to have some of you say such kind and encouraging words to me. So without further adieu, here's the final installment.

* * *

**Chapter 14: Weasley's Witch Wooing**

"Bloody hell, Hermione," Ron exclaimed, throwing down a large postal bag that was slung around his shoulder. The loosened drawstring made way for a large number of bundles to come spilling out, all decorated with cards. "Who the hell are all these from? It took _three _owls to carry this."

Hermione, who had arrived at the Burrow just ten minutes ago, after having spent her break until now with her parents in France, took one of the packages and saw the note attached. Parkinson. She took another. Reynolds. Another. Levy.

"It's from students," Hermione said, her face lighting up as she looked at the two dozen boxes and many more cards that were in the bag. "I can't believe it."

"I told you you'd be popular," said a familiar voice from the doorway.

Hermione looked up immediately and had to do a double-take to make sure it was really him. He'd grown out his hair. It was nearly shoulder length now and shaggy. His hazel eyes sparkled in amusement, and she had to admit that he looked fantastic in his periwinkle jumper and his distressed jeans. His hands were in his pockets, and he smiled at her charmingly.

"Popular is one thing, but this is mad," Ron said, snapping her out of her admiration. "What'd they get you, anyhow?"

"I'm not opening them until tomorrow," Hermione replied, gathering the presents in the bag again and pushing it off beside the tree in the living room of the Burrow.

"Why not?" Ron asked incredulously. "Normally when admirers send you gifts, you open them up right away and donate them."

"It's different, because it's the students who sent these," Hermione said, rolling her eyes at Ron. "There weren't parcels delivered to the balcony of my flat. This is Hogwarts post, from my students."

"Someone's protective," George said, appearing in the doorway next to Fred, a baby boy sleeping soundly in his arms, his wife appearing next to him, too.

"I'm not protective," Hermione huffed.

"Just a bit sentimental," Fred teased.

"Lay off of her, you two," Angelina said, coming over to greet Hermione by wrapping her up in a warm hug.

George came over next, and Hermione took the time to inspect their infant child, who had beautiful caramel skin and sparkling brown eyes, just like his parents. It was the first time she'd seen George or Angelina in over eight months.

"Harry and Gin coming?" George asked quietly, settling into one of the sofas with his wife.

"Not until tomorrow, I think," Hermione said thoughtfully. "They're keeping Andromeda company tonight."

"Teddy's excited about that, I bet," Ron said with a grin, settling down next to Hermione on the floor. "He's been a bit down since Albus was born. He thinks Harry won't have time for him anymore."

"That's rubbish, isn't it?" Hermione asked. "Not that you can explain that to a child."

As their Christmas Eve morning went by in quiet conversation, Hermione found herself unable to stop looking at Fred. She hadn't seen him in so long, and he didn't seem to be uncomfortable at all. There wasn't a trace of awkwardness from him, nor any sort of hint that he was aware of the fact that they hadn't seen each other in so long.

She was so put off by this that during the course of the morning, people had to repeat themselves when speaking with her, because she'd become lost in her own thoughts. She sort of knew what he was up to through Ginny and Ron, but she still craved something more. It didn't help that the second she'd seen him, her heart started beating wildly. She wanted to touch his hair. It was so different, so luscious, so healthy and wild. He looked fantastic, and she wanted to tell him that.

She also wanted to thank him in person for the birthday gift he'd sent her - a Weasleys' Wizard Wardrobe, which she'd used almost daily to change out of her teaching robes. More than that, she wanted to be alone with him. She wanted to ask him if he regretted telling her he didn't want to see her, but she knew she didn't have the galls to ask it even if given the opportunity. She also wanted to apologize again for everything she'd done. She wouldn't have minded getting an update on his life from him either. She knew they were together now because it was Christmas at the Burrow, but would he be up for restarting their friendship?

Had enough time passed that they could now resume speaking? Or was she such a horrible person that he no longer wanted anything to do with her permanently? Was he being friendly now out of necessity or because he'd forgiven her?

If she had to be honest, she realized about a week into her hiatus from him that what she felt wasn't out of loneliness. She'd been in love with him. As much as she tried to forget that love and move on, she couldn't. After she and Oliver had split up, it wasn't him she missed. It was Fred. She'd thought about him every day of the past eight months. She missed his laugh, his wit, his voice, his touch.

"How's Oliver?" Angelina asked, after she'd finished interrogating Ron about his new girlfriend, a new Auror who'd gone to Durmstrang.

"He's good," Hermione replied absently. "He's been seeing this witch from Bulgaria - Viktor's manager. Viktor tried to teach him how to wish her a Happy Christmas in Bulgarian, and it was the funniest thing I've ever heard. Viktor even laughed, and he's usually so patient."

Hermione laughed when she remembered Oliver's mangled attempts at speaking Bulgarian. She reckoned his Scottish accent made it impossible for him to speak anything properly, as she'd had no problems telling him. He looked so offended, and that made it even funnier.

Hermione, however, was the only one laughing.

"Oliver's been seeing someone else?" Angelina asked curiously.

"Yes, since November sometime," Hermione replied. "Really nice woman. They seem happy together."

"Hermione and Wood split ages ago," Ron said helpfully, and Angelina finally nodded in understanding.

Hermione looked at them curiously. She thought that Oliver, Fred, and George were close. She found it odd that the Weasley twins didn't seem to be aware of his relationship status.

"You didn't know that?" Hermione blurted out. "Ollie didn't tell you?"

"We haven't spoken to Wood in a long time," George supplied evenly, staring at Hermione meaningfully.

Her eyes widened in understanding, and she felt her stomach drop. Oh Gods. It was her fault. She'd torn apart a friendship, and because Fred and George were brothers, she'd torn apart another as well.

"Who wants to run out for some milk and eggs?" Mrs. Weasley called, poking her head into the living room.

"I will," Hermione volunteered, jumping up so quickly and rushing out the door that she only heard half of Ron's smart-arse comment about her eagerness.

Unlike last year, this year there was no snow on the ground, and the sun was shining brightly, although it was still rather cold. She knew the path to the Muggle village and hoped that the woman who ran the shop there would be willing to open up for her again this year. Hermione willed herself not to focus on the revelation that Fred, George, and Oliver were no longer close, and instead focused on pulling her Weasleys' Wizard Wardrobe out of her pocket and requesting something that wouldn't look out of place among Muggles. She wasn't surprised when her blue coat appeared. She didn't get to wear it a lot, so she took advantage of the times when she was able to.

"Hermione," she heard behind her.

She automatically slowed her pace and allowed the person who'd yelled out her name to catch up. It was George Weasley, wearing a long, black peacoat. He was smiling when he reached her, and he combed his hand through his short red hair.

"Did you need me to get you something as well?" Hermione asked awkwardly.

"No, I wanted to come with you," he said with a small laugh, urging her onward.

"Why?" she asked bluntly.

It seemed that the closer her relationship with Fred had become, the more her relationship with George deteriorated. This had gone on until the point when she and Fred decided to longer speak, and then George and Fred were on the same page, both of them hating her. She had some insight into why that was, but it didn't explain why he was here now.

"Here I thought we were friends," George said with a laugh.

"We _were_, yes," she agreed, continuing to walk through the forest.

"Yeah, alright," he said, keeping up with her stride. "I deserved that."

"It's not as if I set out to hurt anyone," she said quietly. "And I think I've gotten all that I've deserved. The only happiness I get out of life these days is teaching, and unless you can find someone better to replace me, I'll not sacrifice that."

"Whoa, Hermione," George said, as if trying to calm a bucking horse. "I dunno where that came from, but no one's suggesting anything of the sort."

She calmed down a bit from her sudden anger and nodded, walking forward stiffly.

"I don't really have a legitimate reason to be shouting at you either," she admitted. "I just didn't want to be attacked on Christmas Eve after things have finally started to settle down, and I've spent a few days in a row not crying myself to sleep every night."

"You've been..." he trailed off. "I didn't think you were the sort."

"I haven't done that regularly since Ron left while Harry and I were tracking Horcruxes," she said, "but I was overwhelmed, and crying is a manifestation of that."

She felt him stop in his tracks, and she mimicked the motion. She turned around and locked eyes with him. He looked uncomfortable, which worked fine for her, because she felt uncomfortable. It was odd, because she felt as though he was struggling to say something, and in an instant, she realized what it was. It was the same thing she was struggling with as well. She wanted to apologize to him for ruining his friendship with Wood, for causing strain between the bond she thought was impenetrable (the one between Fred and George), for hurting his best friend, and for anything else she might have done that impacted him. She could see in his eyes that he hadn't been intending to attack her. He wanted to apologize for treating her so coldly over the past several months. He'd never been outright hostile, but he'd been cold, for sure, and she had no doubt that his opinion was the only one that Fred really took to heart (aside from Molly's, which wasn't provided as the woman thankfully knew naught of the situation), and he was most likely a driving force in Fred no longer speaking with her.

Maybe it was the Christmas spirit, or maybe he missed her as a sister the way she missed him as a brother, but it seemed that George and Hermione were on the same page about reconciling, at least.

"I really _hadn't _meant to hurt anyone," Hermione repeated weakly. "And if I can do anything to fix things between you and Oliver, I'll talk to him. I'll do anything necessary."

George nodded, then looked at her strangely. "I'm surprised you're still on good terms with Wood."

She couldn't help the laugh that escaped her lips. It was odd, she had to admit. To an outsider, anyway. "Oliver and I both made mistakes, and we've gotten past them."

"But you're no longer together," George stated.

"No," she said, laughing again. "I can't say whether it was the mistakes we made that caused us to fall out of love with one another or if we weren't meant to maintain the great love we once had. There's no use in dwelling at this point. The fact is that neither of us feels the way about the other that we once did. Since we admitted it, it's taken much of the strain out of our relationship, and we've become great friends again."

"Tell me one thing, then," George requested, still looking at her in disbelief. "If you're truly finished with Wood, then why haven't you spoken with Fred?"

She swallowed a lump in her throat and shrugged, finally breaking eye contact. "He told me he didn't want to speak to me, and I respected that. It was the least I could do."

"But you haven't moved on, have you?" he asked bluntly.

Hermione bit her lip and continued looking at the ground. After all of these months, his mere presence in the same room had caused her heart rate to increase, her breathing to become shallow, and her throat to become dry. Nor could she stop herself from looking at him at every opportunity. Of course it was obvious to George, who always had been the most perceptive Weasley brother after Bill.

"You should tell him," George urged, catching her by surprise.

She furrowed her brow and blinked up at him in confusion. "Why would I do that? Me not moving on doesn't mean I'm going to keep him from doing so."

"He hasn't moved on either," George said with a frown. "Fred has a hard time moving on. He's stubborn."

"I know he's stubborn," she said sadly. "That's how I know he was serious when he told me he wanted nothing to do with me."

The words still echoed in her head. It was hard for her to stay away from him, and she knew if she showed up at his doorstep, he wouldn't turn her away. She was too close to their family, and he was too kind-hearted. But it wasn't what he wanted, and she wanted him to heal. He deserved better than her, and she was going to do everything she could to ensure that he was able to move on from her.

"I know what happened the night he said that," George said darkly. "It took months of prodding, but he told me."

"Oh?" Hermione asked, blushing at the thought of Fred repeating what she'd drunkenly said. She didn't remember much of what she'd said before the potion to sober her, but if what she'd said after was the _sober _bit, then she didn't even want to know.

"He only said what he did, because he thought you and Wood would patch things up, get engaged, and live happily ever after," George said. "I thought that much was obvious."

"I told him that Oliver and I were falling apart regardless of what happened between us," Hermione said, shaking her head. "There was _no _way that he could think breaking off all contact with me was going to change how I felt."

"Way," George said, crossing his arms. "And he's been pining ever since. You can ask poor Ginny how much he harasses her about you, and she refuses to tell him anything. Says to talk to you himself."

"But he didn't," she pointed out, following his example and crossing her arms. "So he must be serious."

"I don't know which of you is more stubborn," George groaned in exasperation, shaking his head and looking up at the sky. "Look, Hermione, how is it you feel now?"

"The same as then," she said, equally frustrated with the situation. "I love him. I'm in love with him. I've been in love with him since... February, probably. And if anything's changed, it's that I love him more now, because I miss him so much."

"Why don't you tell him that?" George asked. "Put both of you out of your misery."

"No," she said, shaking her head. "He's better off without me. And I'm going to listen to him, not you. And _he _said that he wanted nothing more to do with me."

George ogled her in disbelief for a minute straight, opening and closing his mouth like a fish as he searched for something adequate to say. He eventually gave up and stormed off back toward the Burrow.

Hermione, meanwhile, was aware that she'd still volunteered herself to go to the shops, so she marched forward, into the little town. She tried to put the conversation with George out of her head. He was wrong. He'd been wrong then, and he was wrong now.

Sure, Fred had smiled at her this morning, but he hadn't so much as looked at her since. And she _knew _because she'd been watching him the entire time. The best she could expect from him was his friendship, and she wasn't even sure about that at the moment.

Once she'd arrived in town, she saw the same two boys she'd seen the year before, their heads put together and looking at an auto magazine. She couldn't help but smile. To her surprise, they looked up and recognized her as well, waving in a friendly way.

"Good morning, boys," she said with a smile, walking over to them. "Do you know if the shop's open?"

"I think so," Collin said, looking over to his friend for confirmation. The other lad nodded. "Fred and George not with you this time?"

She looked at them incredulously and snorted in laughter. "You mean you aren't terrified of them anymore?"

"No, miss," Collin said with a grin. "We used to think they practiced black magic, and our mums told us to stay away from them, but then one day Fred came by and explained everything to me."

"Did he, now?" she asked, plastering a smile on her lips as if she knew what he was talking about.

"Sure," Michael said. "They're great scientists, and they thought we'd appreciate preview of the newest technology."

"Yes, that would explain everything, wouldn't it?" she asked, her grin spreading across her face.

"Fred even came by and gave us new computers in apology for scaring us," Collin said excitedly, opening up his bag and revealing a sleek, black laptop. "Said you'd told him off for trying to scare us and that he'd better explain himself properly."

"Did he?" she asked, unable to stop herself from becoming misty-eyed.

Fred had taken her words about messing with Muggles to heart and had made things right with the poor lads. And he'd done it out of good will, not to impress her. He'd never even told her about it. The thought made her smile uncontrollably.

"You'd better run along, miss. She might be closing for lunch soon."

"Thank you, boys," she said, bowing her head to them and heading to the shop.

* * *

Once Hermione returned from her shopping adventures and deposited Molly's goods safely in her hands, Hermione returned back to the living room, where Ron was cradling his new nephew, who'd woken up but was still in a somewhat sleepy state. Angelina, it seemed, hadn't been sleeping well lately, as she had fallen asleep with her head in George's lap. He was stroking her hair when Hermione walked in.

"You're back!" Ron exclaimed, in his finest baby voice, before he coughed awkwardly and repeated, "I mean... you're back" in a much more masculine voice.

"I am," she confirmed with a small giggle. She looked around. "Where's Fred?"

"He's at the Diagon Alley shop," George supplied helpfully. "According to Ronnie-kins, anyway. He was already gone when I got back."

"D'you have a lot of unfinished work?" she asked, chewing on the inside of her cheek.

"There's always work to be done, but there's nothing pressing, no." George said, looking straight into her eyes, staring as if he could see through her.

"I never got to tell you, but with the new quills - they're fantastic. And Verity did a great job presenting them to the professors as well," she said, because she didn't know what else _to _say.

The quills she was referring to were the ones they'd been working on for almost the past year, the ones that were her Christmas present. They'd been available to students in the September term, and while it didn't make everyone magically pass, it was good for struggling students who worked hard and overachievers who wanted to excel even further. And it cut down her grading by half. Through a partnership with Hogwarts in which Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes volunteered a fifth of their profits, the quills were distributed and sold directly inside of Hogwarts, and all students had them as a standard part of their needed supplies now.

"Thank Fred. He tackled that project on his own," George said simply.

She continued to chew on the inside of her lip, before she huffed out a breath of air loudly. "Maybe I will."

"Good," George said, a mischievous grin on his face. "And take Angelina's watch. It'll get you past the apparition wards."

Her eyes widened as George carefully unclasped his wife's watch and handed it to Hermione.

"But if anything happens to it, it's both our heads," George said seriously. "She loves that watch."

Hermione nodded solemnly, bade goodbye to Ron who was oblivious to everything but his baby nephew, and walked outside the Weasleys' home and past the fence. Hermione stood thinking about the interior of Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. It'd be odd apparating directly into it, as that task was usually impossible, but with the help of Angelina's watch, which was charmed to work as a sort of key, she opened her eyes and found herself exactly where she'd imagined herself to be.

Hermione pocketed the watch carefully and listened for any sounds of life. From up the stairs, she could hear loud squealing. Furrowing her brows, Hermione jogged up the stairs and arrived on the first level of the labs. She saw that the wall was opened to reveal the inner workspace, although there was a gate placed on it which reminded her of the gates she remembered keeping her downstairs as a child when her mother didn't want her wandering off. Hermione walked over to it carefully, aware that the playful squealing was coming from beyond it. Once the arch was in view, she realized what was making that noise. In the center of the room, Fred was lying on the floor, a baby Pygmy Puff in his hand and five more around him, playing with various toys and waddling around.

The purple Pygmy Puff squealed in delight as Fred hugged it and gave it a kiss on the nose before releasing it. The others battled for Fred's attention, and he promised them they'd all get turns, as he took another and raised it above him, making noises like an airplane.

Hermione stood there for a while, until she could no longer contain the giggles at Fred treating the Pygmies as if they were toddlers.

"Are you going to try to sell them or keep them all for yourself?" she asked finally, stepping over the barrier.

He quickly sat up and spun around on his arse to face her.

"George won't let me keep them all," Fred said, pouting. "He says we have to put them out for our Boxing Day sale."

"Why don't you get one yourself?" she asked, sitting down on the floor and taking a pink Pigmy Puff into her hands. Its scrunched nose sniffed at her.

"It'd be cruel, I reckon, to have the little thing sit home all alone whilst I'm here," he said, as one purred in his lap. "I may consider taking a pet that could hang around the shop during the day."

"That'd be good," she said, nodding. "Minnie used to sit in my old office at the Ministry, and now she's really enjoying herself at Hogwarts. She's taken a particular liking to the Hufflepuff common room."

"I wouldn't mind a dog," Fred said thoughtfully. "They have some at the Emporium that can fly."

"Oh, I've seen those," she exclaimed. "They don't even have wings. And they've got them in all the standard breeds."

"Should get a big, black shaggy one and name him Padfoot, I should," Fred mused, tickling the little Pygmy Puff in his lap, who was unaware of its impending sale.

"After Sirius?" Hermione asked, laughing.

"Why would I name him after Sirius?" Fred asked, regarding her with a confused expression.

"Oh my God, no one's ever told you, have they?" Hermione asked, as realization dawned on her. "The Marauders from the Marauders' Map - Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs - they're Remus, Pettigrew, Sirius, and James Potter."

Fred's eyes widened, and she could see the wheels turning in his head as he registered what she'd just said. After a moment, his eyes lit up with newfound respect. "Really? Sirius, the old dog - no pun intended - all the time he spent helping us with our products, and he never said a word. And Lupin, too? Should have given him more credit."

Hermione smiled, enjoying the giddy expression on Fred's face. Although it was sad that he'd never get to see his mischief-making heroes again, they were remembered in fondness, and that made her glad.

"I've got it, you know?" she asked, snapping him out of his slack-jawed awe.

"Got what?" he asked.

"The map," she said, her eyes twinkly mischievously. "Harry told me to hang onto it. He was afraid James would eventually find it in his desk and knick it from him, so he told me to keep it."

Fred gasped, as if it was blasphemous to keep the map from a mischief-maker-in-training, despite the fact that said mischief-maker was barely walking and talking. "How very..."

"Parental?" Hermione asked, laughing.

"Yes, that's the word!" Fred said, tutting and shaking his head. "You aren't using it to help your patrol, are you?"

"No," she answered, a small smile on her face. "I think it'd be wrong to use the map for authoritative purposes."

"Good," Fred said in grim approval. "The map is only meant to be used for trouble."

Hermione couldn't help but laugh at how serious Fred sounded when speaking of the map.

"Are you laughing at me?" he asked, in outrage.

"I cannot help it," she said, trying to contain her giggles.

Fred glared at her, throwing a Pigmy Puff her way. She easily caught the little critter, who was squealing in joy. Hermione sat him on her knees, watching as he climbed up her hands and arms until he got to her shoulder. He perched there, nibbling her ear.

"How'd you apparate in, by the way?" he asked, looking at her curiously.

"Ahh, that," she said, her face flushing a bit. She put her hand in her pocket and withdrew Angelina's watch. "George gave me Angelina's watch."

"George did," Fred repeated, as if the idea was something incredible. "Why would George give you his wife's five-year anniversary gift?"

"He didn't _give _it to me," Hermione said, pursing her lips, but cradling the watch more gently now that she realized George wasn't kidding when he said it was important. "He let me borrow it, so I could come see you."

"Despite the fact that I told you I didn't want anything more to do with you?" he asked her incredulously.

Her blood ran cold, goosebumps covering her entire body despite the fact that she felt as if all the wind had been knocked out of her. How they'd gone from joking around about the Marauders' Map and Pygmy Puffs to him reminding her of the words that had left a stabbing feeling in her heart for months now was unknown to her. But she knew he was right.

She'd been encouraged by George's words, and for a moment, the thought flittered through her head that he'd sent her here as revenge, to get her just desserts, but remembering George's eyes, and just knowing the man and how kind he was, she knew he'd never do such a thing on purpose. Not to Hermione. Or to anyone. Fred might, she mused, but not to anyone he cared about or ever had cared about. George had honestly thought they would reconcile if he sent her there. He was wrong.

She felt stupid for standing there, for forcing herself into his workspace when he'd come here to avoid her. He'd been cordial to her at the Burrow, and that was more than she expected already. She should have taken it at face value and been grateful for it instead of letting herself get her hopes up and thinking he had missed her even a fraction of how much she'd missed him. She felt so, so stupid.

"You're right," she said, standing up and putting the protesting Pygmy Puff on the ground. "I don't know what I was thinking." She turned toward the door and stepped over the threshold. "I'm sorry. It won't happen again."

"Wait a second, Hermione," Fred growled, standing up and following her out of the room. "You're not getting away that easy."

"I already apologized," she said, turning toward him but not meeting his eyes. "I can't do much more. I can't go home. I promised Molly I'd stay for Christmas."

"I want to know why you came," he said, ignoring her previous statement. "Aside from George giving you the ability to."

"I don't know," she said feebly, not sure if she knew the answer to that herself.

"You do," he said, catching her off-guard with a small chuckle.

"I do?" she asked, swallowing hard.

"You do," he repeated.

Fred stepped closer to her, so close that she could smell the scent of pine; he'd been leaning against the tree, and it must have rubbed off. He raised one muscular arm and took one slender finger and brought it to her chin, forcing her head up to look at him. He was wearing a smile across his full lips, his eyes dancing with mirth in the dim light coming from the other room.

"I know how stubborn you are," he said, holding her jaw in place to keep her from opening her mouth in protest, "so you must have _really _wanted to see me if you came despite me having told you not to."

She tried to look away, but he lifted her jaw even higher, forcing her to continue gazing into his eyes. She felt electricity shoot through her entire body, her face flushing. The smile on his lips disappeared, as his eyes shot to her mouth, becoming dark and stormy.

"Tell me why you're here," he urged.

She stayed silent. He'd just said it, hadn't he? She wanted to see him.

"Tell me," he growled. "Tell me honestly."

"I love you," she mumbled.

"What?" he asked, staring into her eyes intently. "I didn't catch that."

"I love you," she said angrily. "I've missed you every day. I think about you every day. I saw you at a Hogsmeade weekend through the window and nearly burst into tears. A student snapped me out of my trance. I would have stayed standing there, in the snow, the entire day, just because I wanted to watch you. Seeing you today took my breath away. I wanted to touch your hair. I wanted to kiss your lips. I wanted to breathe in your scent. I love you so much that it hurts, and I buggered it up once. And I've thought about it non-stop since then. I _have _to try one last time. I know it's selfish of me, but I have to. I only have myself in this world, and I have to try to do what makes me happy, and nothing's made me as happy as you can make me. I love you, Fred Weasley. I love you. That's why I'm here. Because I love you, and I want you, and I know you don't want to see me, but if you would just give me another - "

He cut her off with his lips crashing into hers. It seemed that he'd had enough of her ranting or was moved to action by it (she didn't know which, but she didn't care). His lips burned against hers with such a familiarity that it was hard to believe she'd only had them against her lips once before. His hand clutched her jaw roughly, and she wouldn't have doubted it if a bruise was developing. His other hand moved behind her back and pulled her toward him so that her abdomen was flat against him. She could feel his hardness already fighting against the fabric of his jeans. Her neck began to feel sore from the way it was craned upward, but she didn't care.

Her hands ran over his body hungrily, one immediately moving to his shaggy hair, the feeling of his long locks foreign to her fingers but very welcome. The other hand moved across his chest, until she secured it to his jumper, tugging possessively. His body felt so hot. Or was that her body? She couldn't tell the difference anymore.

Their clothes were discarded, the precious watch that was in Hermione's coat pocket momentarily forgotten as it landed on the floor, the base of their growing heap of clothes. The outer lab area was dark, the only light coming from the inner area, sounds of Pygmy Puffs snorting, purring, and squealing unheard over the sounds of their heartbeats and shallow breathing.

The last act of thought happened when Fred summoned a blanket from upstairs onto the floor. When he laid her down, all else was forgotten, except for the primal instincts that quickly united them, both emotionally and physically. Fred thrust inside of her, causing her to moan in bittersweet agony. He took his time, letting her adjust, and moving slowly, teasing her in a way which was much more desperate than the last time they were together. He was pouring himself into this simple act, each movement doubling as a communication, a plea for her to understand what he'd been going through all along.

No words were necessary. She understood, and she clutched onto him for dear life, opening her eyes only to look into his. He leaned down to kiss her, as his movements increased pace. Everything she'd felt for him built up with her, and she felt her core begin to tighten. She could feel every movement he was making, every finger on his hands trailing along her body, clutching her in desperation.

His hair swung with him, covering up his eyes as his mouth remained parted, his breathing quiet and shallow. Hermione reached up to move strands of ginger hair out of his eyes, before she pulled down his neck to kiss him again. He acquiesced, sloppily kissing her, leaving her mouth wet. His concentration was elsewhere, and so was hers, as she came undone.

She thrust her hips upward, calling out his name, and he followed her almost immediately, spilling his seed inside of her. Spent, he sat up just long enough to catch his breath, before he rolled over next to her. Hermione, still seeing stars in her eyes, put one hand under his head and pulled him close to her in a hug. He let her, until his forehead rested against hers.

She bent her chin upward and pecked his lips.

"That was perfect," she said breathily.

"Yeah," he agreed seriously. "It really was. 10/10. No. 11/10. My first time on a broomstick, turning Percy's hair green, the portable swamps in Hogwarts, opening up Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, and the first time we shagged - all the best moments of my life. Until now. This takes the top. A+ effort."

"I'm sorry about everything," she said, laughing at his last statement.

"I know," he said, licking his lips. "I'm sorry for coming between you and Wood. I still think if it hadn't been for me, you and he would still be together and happier than ever."

"If it wasn't for you," she said, frowning, "he and I would never have gotten back together in the first place."

"That's true," he said awkwardly, as if he'd just remembered that he was the one who'd told her why Oliver had broken up with her in the first place.

"And if it wasn't for you, I wouldn't have you," she said, a cheeky grin fighting its way onto her lips.

"That's true, too," he said, chuckling as he kissed her lips sweetly.

"Fred, I know that up until now, you didn't even want to see me, but please give me a chance," she said honestly, raw emotion spilling into every word.

He sat up and pulled her up so she was sitting as well. "Hermione," he said, looking into her eyes and continuing, "I never wanted to not see you. I only said I didn't because I thought you'd be happier with Wood - with Oliver. After the first night we... did _this, _and you ran out on me, I went to Oliver's. After talking about things man-to-man, he told me he wanted you back. We concocted a gentleman's agreement. We'd both fight for you, but if anything we did distressed you, we would back off and wave the white flag. The night when you came to my flat, you were a mess, Hermione. And I said to myself, 'look what you've done, Freddy. Look at her,' and after the realization hit me that it was my fault, I waved the white flag."

Hermione's eyes widened, and her face flushed. She couldn't believe what she was hearing. Because of the way she came on, because of her own brashness and stupidity, he'd felt he needed to protect her, and that's why he'd done what he'd done - for _her _happiness.

"But you and Oliver aren't on speaking terms anymore," she sputtered before she could stop herself.

He regarded her with a sad smile. "It's hard to be friends with someone who's dating the girl you love."

"I want to fix it, please," she pleaded. "I don't want to be the type of girl who splits up friendships."

"I'll owl him," Fred agreed, opening his arms.

Hermione threw herself into them, not caring about her state of undress. Fred's skin felt warm and soft. "I don't deserve you."

"The feeling's mutual," he said, petting her hair. "I love you."

Her heart swelled at his words, and she pressed herself tightly into him. "I love you, too."

"But you know, I think I told you once that I don't make promises lightly, and I promised you that you were the only one for me, and that still rings true."

"Oh Fred," she said, snuggling into him. "There's no place I'd rather be, and if I have to be dehumanized into a material possession, I suppose it wouldn't be so bad to be yours."

He chuckled lightly at her. "I can be yours, too, if that evens things out."

"Yes, that sounds good," she said in a childish voice, her face still pressed to his bare chest.

"And we can take things slow this time," he said, pulling himself away from her.

She covered up her breasts with the second blanket and blinked up at him.

"We've just had sex," she pointed out, unable to stop the laughter that was bubbling in her throat from spilling out between her lips. "And we've committed ourselves to the other."

"I suppose you have a point," he said, laughing. "I guess there's nothing left to take slow. Except marriage and kids. But that's up to you, too. Whenever you're ready. You've been the girl I've wanted to marry for years now."

She blinked up at him again, feeling warm from his words, elated at the thought, and waited for him to stop laughing, a small smile on her face. "I don't want to waste any more time. I've already decided that you're the one for me."

His laughter stopped immediately, and he examined her face to see if she was serious. She was.

"Will you marry me, Fred Weasley?"

"Hermione Granger, are you proposing marriage to me in the buff?" he asked, bursting out laughing again.

She giggled, throwing her head back. "I am."

"Well alright then," he said, shaking his head in disbelief.

"Alright what?" she asked, laughing nervously. "Alright that I'm proposing marriage to you in the buff, or alright, you'll marry me?"

"Alright, let's get married," he said, a broad grin spreading across his lips. "Yeah, let's get married. Definitely. Marriage - if George can do it, then so can I!"

Hermione laughed as he stuttered through his acceptance, still shocked. Hermione brought her hand up to his cheek and bent forward, placing a gentle kiss on his laughing lips.

"But no kids for a while," she said, giggling. "Although you can get a dog and name it Padfoot after Sirius. We'll have to take Minnie with us to pick him out. She'll never approve of a dog unless she helps pick him out."

He nodded, still in disbelief, as they hugged again, preparing to spend the rest of their lives together.

* * *

**Epilogue: Weasley's Wonderful Wedding to the Witch He Wooed**

When Fred took her away to his flat, she insisted that they owl an apology to Molly. She wasn't going to disappear on her again. The next day, they returned to the Burrow hand-in-hand for Christmas morning. The place was already packed full of the entire family, and Hermione once again had the feeling of being late at seven-in-the-morning, because children were already tearing into presents while adults sipped coffee to try to wake up. Bill was the first to notice their joined hands, and he congratulated them quietly. This was enough to cause a mini-uproar at the Weasley house, in which Mrs. Weasley started crying furiously and wouldn't let go of Hermione and Fred for what felt like an hour, squeezing them so tightly that Hermione wondered if she was going to lose consciousness. Ginny and Harry only had room to congratulate them half-heartedly, as they had to run after James, who was managing to use a bit of impressive wandless magic to levitate his baby brother around the room. George patted his brother on the back and smiled warmly at Hermione.

Percy was the only one left out of the loop (besides Charlie, who was in Australia swimming with sharks and sting rays with his mates for Christmas), and he surprised everyone by bursting into tears along with Mrs. Weasley and congratulating them. Little Teddy, who was far too smart for his age, asked if he could be ring-bearer at their wedding, because his gran's friend's grandson, Aaron, got to be ring-bearer at his cousin's wedding, and he got a gift basket full of chocolate for being a good boy.

Mr. Weasley picked up Teddy and promised him a gift basket full of chocolate for being a good boy anyway, and then told him that Fred and Hermione weren't even engaged.

That was an awkward moment.

Especially when Hermione opened up her Christmas present from Fred and found a ring inside. How he'd managed the feat, she didn't know, but something about the way Fred and George looked at each other told her that Fred must have gone out after she'd fallen asleep last night.

Molly once again burst into tears and hugged them both for nearly another hour, ranting about the joy of more grandchildren and how happy she was to be getting Hermione into the family finally. That sentiment was quickly reduced into nagging Ron about his single status and how he even _Percy _was married now, to which Percy took no offense as he was too busy trying to disguise his tears.

Hermione and Fred's wedding took place the following July on Hogwarts grounds. There was a large crowd at the wedding, from Ministry officials to old Hogwarts students, to the extended family and friends of both Fred and Hermione. It'd seemed that every Gryffindor she'd ever shared the common room with had come, and to make things easier for them, they flipped coins to see who would sit on whose side. Hermione had even invited the four meddlesome Gryffindors she'd taught, who were freshly graduated, Pipers and Reynolds being the first new people to be accepted into Auror training in three years, and Gomez and Richards managing to get high enough marks to get entry-level jobs at the Ministry.

As a wedding gift to the couple, Neville had agreed to officiate the ceremony, with many Order members speaking at the reception as well. George had been Fred's best man, and Ginny was Hermione's maid of honor. Teddy was ring-bearer. Oliver had been a groomsman, and at the ceremony, he and Hermione shared a dance, where he genuinely wished her the best. He was so enamored with his girlfriend that he nearly cut the dance short so he could run off back to her, and that made Hermione incredibly happy as well. It also helped that he and Fred, though still a bit awkward, owled occasionally and went to Quidditch matches together. And she appreciated that, because she still saw Oliver from time-to-time, maintaining a close friendship.

At the reception, Ron and Malfoy had once again commandeered the spotlight by singing classic love songs together drunkenly, ignoring their dates, until the clock rang midnight, and they sought them out to kiss them, mistaking Fred and Hermione's wedding for New Year's. Much to the horror of everyone, they managed to find each other's dates instead of their own. But it all worked out in the end, as it turns out that they'd both asked co-workers as friends, and they hit it off with each other's dates more than with their own, eventually marrying them.

Hermione moved into Fred's flat for a while, until Padfoot, his flying Newfoundlander pup, became stir crazy. They bought a house just outside of Hogsmeade, which was convenient for Hermione because she taught at Hogwarts, and convenient for Fred because he worked there, and when he was working in one of the other locations, he could just apparate. Plus, if Hermione was being honest, she had to admit that she felt it safer to keep Fred away from Muggles, despite his display of good will toward the boys near the Burrow. For Christmas of Hermione's twenty-eighth year, she announced to the family that she was expecting. And in July, she was surprised when she gave birth to not one, but two healthy boys - both with flaming red hair and hazel eyes like their dad.

Hermione and Fred were much more pleased than Minnie and Padfoot were.

_The end._

* * *

_**Author's Note**: The end! I've always thought stories ending with proposals or weddings were cheesy, but I had to say 'screw it' and go for it. This is too fluffy to not have ended with a wedding and a pair of twins. Heh. Thanks for sticking this out with me, guys. If you have requests for other pairings, let me know. I want to write something else, but nothing's struck my fancy yet._


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